Until even the critical Haw-Haw Langley was forced to step back and shake his head in admiration.

He continued his survey of the room.
In one corner stood a rifle and a shot-gun; in another was a pile of provisions--bacon, flour, salt, meal, and little else.

Spices and condiments were apparently unknown to this hermit; nor was there even the inevitable coffee, nor any of the molasses or other sweets which the tongue of the desert-mountainer cannot resist.

Flour, meat, and water, it seemed, made up the entire fare of the trapper.

For cookery there was an unboarded space in the very centre of the floor with a number of rocks grouped around in the hole and blackened with soot.