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future.”
    Sharp used his knife to knock all the embers inside his small rock circle and added a few more pieces of kindling. Next, he settled the pot on his makeshift rock grill.
    “Will that work?” I asked.
    “Hell, them rocks an’ embers are hotter than a stove top. Done this lots of times. Later, we’ll bury the rocks under our bedrolls to help keep us warm.”
    A couple of small boulders served as convenient seats to watch his handiwork. We were inside the pen, but the horses ignored us as they tried to find their own meal between the rocky outcroppings. We both pulled out tobacco, Sharp to roll a cigarette and me to tamp a load into my pipe.
    Sharp licked the edge of the paper and sealed an expertly rolled cigarette. After watching his beans for a while, he hooked a thumb behind him. “Chestnut handles this wilderness like he was born to it.”
    “He feels different under me since we ventured off the road.” I grinned at Sharp. “Fancy-free and unfettered, I guess.”
    “Probably bored ridin’ them dull roads ya hold him to.”
    “I suspect you’re right.” I drew on my pipe. “Chestnut probably thinks I’m too citified as well.”
    “Well, do me a favor … don’t start behaving civilized just yet.”

Chapter 7
     
    I had lugged the fixings for dinner to the back of our sheltering outcrop, but Sharp proudly carried the pot containing his concoction back to camp. Using his handkerchief to hold the hot handle, he reminded me of a priest swinging a censer before an expectant congregation. I, of course, brought along the sugar, bacon, and Worcestershire sauce. When we got back, McAllen was sitting alone on his bedroll with his back against his saddle.
    “Took long enough.”
    “After ya taste these beans, ya’ll quit eatin’ ’em cold out of the can,” Sharp retorted. “Where’s Red?”
    “He said he was going to scout around, but he took paper with him, so I suppose he had other duties.”
    The reminder of our primitive facilities did not delight me. While Sharp got out some tin plates and forks, I stuffed the sundries back into the gunnysacks and found the hardtack. Soon, we were ready for our feast.
    Red returned wordlessly, and we all set upon eating. I may have been overly hungry, but I devoured the beans, which tasted better than I had expected. After I emptied my plate, I went back to the pot and was disappointed to see it empty.
    “Since you finished first, you wash the pot,” Sharp said with a malicious grin.
    Evidently the newcomer got the menial tasks. I started toward the canteen, but Sharp yelled, “Hey, use dirt.”
    “Dirt?”
    “Yep. Just grab handfuls of dirt an’ rub ’em around the pot till the dirt falls out dry. Use yer ’kerchief to finish the job.”
    I looked at McAllen, but his nod told me this was not some tenderfoot joke. I did as Sharp said and was surprised when the pot appeared clean after I had finished.
    When I handed the pot to Sharp for inspection, he whistled and said it looked just dandy for the morning coffee. That didn’t sound appealing, but Sharp had already proved his skill around a campfire, so his coffee would probably be good as well. I guess a little dirt never hurt anyone. As I snapped my handkerchief in the air to rid it of dust, my three companions started laughing uproariously.
    “Did I do something wrong?”
    “You did just right,” McAllen said. “Tell me, when you were on your own, did you use precious water to wash up after a meal?”
    When I left New York, I had traveled by train to Denver and then bought myself a horse and appropriate gear for the road. I rode alone from Denver through the Rockies and Utah until I reached Nevada. The trip taught me how much I didn’t know about how to live outdoors. “Mostly I found towns or inns, but if I couldn’t, I ate cold—right out of the tin.”
    “Stayed on roads, I bet.”
    I couldn’t understand why McAllen found this amusing. “I came to explore the frontier, not the