“By diplomacy,” said Franklin.  “Morrison, one of the transit men of the engineers, was home in Missouri for a visit, and yesterday he came back and brought a sack of apples with him.  He was so careless that he let the secret out, and in less than half an hour he had lost two thirds of his sack of apples—­the boys wheedled them out of him, or stole them.  At last he put the bag, with what was left of the apples, in the safe at the hotel, and left orders that no one should have even a look at them.  I went out and sent a man in to tell the clerk that he was wanted at the depot, and while he was away I looted the safe—­it wasn’t locked—­and ran for it.  It was legitimate, wasn’t it?  I gave Sam one big red apple, for I knew he would rather have it, to give to his Nora, the waiter girl, than the best horse and saddle on the range.  The rest—­behold them!  Tell me, do you know how to make a pie?”

“Ned,” said Battersleigh, looking at him with an injured air, “do you suppose I’ve campaigned all me life and not learned the simplest form of cookin’?  Pie?  Why, man, I’ll lay you a half section of land to a saddle blanket I’ll make ye the best pie that ever ye set eye upon in all your life.  Pie, indeed, is it?”

“Well,” said Franklin, “you take some risks, but we’ll chance it.  Go ahead.  We’ll just save out two or three apples for immediate consumption, and not put all our eggs in one basket.”

“Wisely spoken, me boy,” said Battersleigh.  “Ye’re a thrue conservative.  But now, just ye watch Batty while he goes to work.”

Battersleigh busied himself about the little box which made his cupboard, and soon had out what he called his “ingraydeyints.”

“Of course, ye’ve to take a little flour,” he said, “that’s for the osseous structure, so to speak.  Ye’ve to add a little grease of some sort, lard or butter, an’ we’ve nayther; the bacon fat’ll do, methinks.  Of course, there’s the bakin’ powder.  Fer I’ve always noticed that when ye take flour ye take also bakin’ powder.  Salt?  No, I’m sure there’s no salt goes in at all; that’s against reason, an’ ye’ll notice that the principles of philosophy go into all the ways of life.  And, lastly, makin’, as I may say, the roundin’ out of the muscular and adipose tissue of the crayture, as the sowl of the pie we must have the apples.  It’s a sin to waste ’em peelin’; but I think they used to peel ’em, too.  And ye’ve to put in sugar, at laste a couple o’ spoons full.  Now observe.  I roll out this dough—­it’s odd-actin’ stuff, but it’s mere idiosyncrashy on its part—­I roll this out with a bottle, flat and fine; and I put into this pan, here, ye’ll see.  Then in goes the intayrior contints, cut in pieces, ye’ll see.  Now, thin, over the top of the whole I sprid this thin blanket of dough, thus.  And see me thrim off the edges about the tin with me knife.  And now I dint in the shircumference with me thumb, the same as July Trelawney did in the Ould Tinth.  And there ye are, done, me pie, an’ may God have mercy on your sowl!—­Ned, build up the fire.”