I longed to experiment further in the cooking line, and discovering a bag of ground coffee leaning against the foot of a tree, I said to myself, "coffee cake." I had heard of it, I had eaten it, I would again surprise the boys.

I had no eggs, no butter, no milk (condensed milk was unknown at that time), but I had flour, water, cream of tartar, saleratus, sugar, salt, and ground coffee.

I thought these quite enough, and went at my task.

The mixture I made I put in a small tin and baked in the Dutch oven.

I was so much occupied with this interesting experiment that I forgot all about time and about having something substantial ready for the return of the hungry climbers, so when they did come about noon, as famished as coyotes and dead tired, all I could offer was _the_ cake, ever after famous on that trip, a brown, sugary solid, some six inches in diameter, two inches thick, and betraying its flavour everywhere by the coffee-grounds scattered lavishly through it.