fire. Bandy-legs had brought his wonderful cookbook along. This contained
dozens of recipes given him by the black "mammy" at home. These Bandy-legs
had written out after his own idea as to what should be used. But, perhaps,
he may have misunderstood the directions in some cases; and the most
astonishing results were apt to follow his attempt to surprise his
campmates with some new dish calculated to tickle their healthy appetites.

He heard Max fire frequently.

"Run across game, all right," chuckled Bandy-legs as he worked on
industriously.

Eating in all its phases appealed to Bandy-legs; and the very thought of
game for supper tickled his fancy.

When Max did show up later on he was carrying a very nice little bundle of
the long-billed woodcock with their attractive breasts.

"How many?" demanded Bandy-legs, turning away from the fire where he had
something boiling furiously.

"Count and see," laughed Max, placing his shotgun against a tree, and
sitting down to rest.

"Just five," remarked Bandy-legs, presently; "say, that was mighty kind of
you not to skip me, Max. One apiece all around, eh? Wow! I hope now my book
tells just how woodcock are to be done, for blessed if I know a thing about
it. To tell the honest truth, I don't recollect ever having seen the
gamy-looking bird before."