"How long will it take that chicken pie to cook?" asked Teddy.

"Couple of hours," replied Jack. "Sometimes it takes longer."

Jack prepared a great bed of coals, drew up dry wood to make more,
and set the pail of chicken pie in the heavy double oven to cook.

"I'm making this 'specially light and sweet," he said, poking the
coals up to the oven, "because we're going to have a prince of the
royal blood to breakfast."

"Where is he?" asked Jimmie, with a grin, "Down by the mules! He
brought these chickens to us--or his chaperon did! Rather thoughtful
of him! Say, Frank" Jack added, "will you go down to the corral and
take a lot of snapshots of the kid? I want to send some home to
Chicago, just to convince the boys I've been dining with royalty."

"Dining with Mike III.," Frank laughed. "It is dollars to dills that
the boy trying to get on Uncle Ike's back is fresh from the
Washington slums!"

"Look you here, little man," Jack began, but just at that moment Ned,
Bradley, and the boy appeared on the slope, headed for the camp. The
boy was seated on the back of Uncle Ike, who, for a wonder, was
marching along sedately, as if accustomed to being made the plaything
of children.

"I wouldn't have believed it of him!" Jimmie muttered. "I wouldn't
have trusted a kid on that wild animal's back any sooner than I would