Lucy called out to Coldiron. The big man was a couple of dozen yards down the creek where he had been marking off a site for the cabin they would build. Always ready when called to supper, he sank his hatchet in a small stump and came at once. “Hmmm,” he sighed when he approached the fire. “Those biscuits smell pretty good. If I’da known you was bakin’ biscuits, I’da been here a lot sooner.” Lucy laughed. “I thought I’d give you a chance to test some of my biscuits. They might not be as good as Myra’s, but nobody’s ever thrown them back at me.” “Well, they smell just as good as Myra’s,” he said. She dipped a heaping serving of beans from the pot sitting in the coals and deposited them on a metal plate, being careful to see that she got plenty of the salt pork with it. She handed him the plate, then poured his coffee before she served her plate. After she seated herself across the fire from him, she asked, “When do you suppose they’ll be back?”
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