He was lean and rawboned, with a
shaggy red moustache and a wart on his left cheek. When he spoke he showed
an even row of strong white teeth.
Dan looked at him with a kind of exhausted indignation.
"Well, it's been emptier," he returned shortly.
The man in blue struck a match and held it carefully to a dried pine
branch, watching, with a serious face, as the flame licked the rosin from
the crossed sticks. Then he placed a quart pot full of water on the coals,
and turned to meet Dan's eyes, which had grown ravenous as he caught the
scent of beef.
"You see we somehow thought you Johnnies would be hard up," he said in an
offhand manner, "so we made up our minds we'd ask you to dinner and cut our
rations square. Some of us are driving over an ox from camp, but as I was
hanging round and saw you all by yourself on this old stump, I had a
feeling that you were in need of a cup of coffee. You haven't tasted real
coffee for some time, I guess."
The water was bubbling over and he measured out the coffee and poured it
slowly into the quart cup. As the aroma filled the air, he opened his
haversack and drew out a generous supply of raw beef which he broiled on
little sticks, and laid on a spread of army biscuits. The larger share he
offered to Dan with the steaming pot of coffee.
"I declare it'll do me downright good to see you eat," he said, with a
hospitable gesture.
Dan sat down beside the bread and beef, and, for the next ten minutes, ate
like a famished wolf, while the man in blue placidly regarded him.
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