greenbottle flies away, that they might not "blow" the venison, as
well as to aid nature in the drying process.

All day on July seventh the rain poured down, a cold, northwest wind
blew, and no progress was made in drying our meat. There was nothing
to do but wait in the tent for the storm to clear.

When Pete went out to cook dinner I told him to make a little corn
meal porridge and let it go at that, but what a surprise he had for us
when, a little later, dripping wet and hands full of kettles, he
pushed his way into the tent! A steaming venison potpie, broiled
venison steaks, hot fried bread dough, stewed prunes for dessert and a
kettle of hot tea! All experienced campers in the north woods are
familiar with the fried bread dough. It is dough mixed as you would
mix it for squaw bread, but not quite so stiff, pulled out to the size
of your frying pan, very thin, and fried in swimming pork grease. In
taste it resembles doughnuts. Hubbard used to call it "French toast."
Our young men had never eaten it before, and Richards, taking one of
the cakes, asked Pete:

"What do you call this?"

"I don't know," answered Pete.

"Well," said Richards, with a mouthful of it, "I call it darn good."

"That's what we call him then," retorted Pete, "darn good."

And so the cakes were christened "darn goods," and always afterward we
referred to them by that name.