“Prescott,” broke in Mr. Ross, coming forward, “you don’t begin to have enough knives, forks and plates to take care of this crowd, do you?”

“I’m sorry to say that we haven’t,” Dick smiled.  “But we’ll manage that all right.  My friends and I will play waiters, and sit at second table after the dishes have been washed.”

“You won’t have to,” replied the cattle owner.  “I have a folding table and dishes in my wagon, and I’ll send Bill Hopple after ’em.”

So the tables were set under the shade of the trees, not far from the campfire.  The Sharps man came up, and was seated with Jim and Bill.  Everything being now cooked, the feast began.

“I’ve never had anything as wonderful as this happen to me before,” cried Belle Meade, as she seated herself and looked over the two tables with sparkling eyes.  “Girls, we didn’t look forward to such a treat as this when we left Gridley this morning.”

“You intended to look in on us, didn’t you?” inquired Darry.

“Yes; but we brought our own luncheons,” said Laura.  “We didn’t expect you to do anything for us—–­unless you boys had happened to catch a mess of fish.”

“We were planning to go fishing this morning,” Tom Reade explained, “although we do not know whether the fishing near here amounts to much.  May I pass you some of this sirloin, Miss Marshall?”

Gay spirits ruled, as they usually do and always should when young people are together out in the open, far from studies or from any of the other cares of life.

Dick told the story of the stampede, while Mr. Ross added much about the peculiarities of stampeding cattle and the impossibility of controlling the animals while their mad fright lasts.

“I am certain that this is the finest meal I have ever eaten,” declared Mr. Page, who, up to the present, had been rather silent.

“There is only one thing it needs,” rejoined Mr. Ross.  “If we had about six roasted ears of corn for each diner then this barbecue would be a huge success.”

“Not even the corn could improve it,” declared Laura Bentley, as Dick helped her to more of the roasted meat.

“Don’t forget that pudding, ladies and gentlemen!” called out Jim Hornby, from where he sat.  “That pudding is my best kind, and the best one of its kind that I ever turned out.  When you have the pudding you won’t be thinking of a little thing like roasted ears of corn.”

“No more, thank you,” replied Clara Marshall, as Greg tried to secure her plate in order to help her to more food.

“Until the pudding comes on,” prompted Jim Hornby.

“Until the pudding arrives,” smiled Clara.

“But no one may think of having pudding yet,” insisted Mr. Ross, with mock gravity.  “I forbid that anyone should have pudding, or even think of it, until we have tried the one really delicious dish of this feast.”

“And what may that be?” called Dr. Bentley.