Drawing a small horn from one of his side pockets, Mr. Ross blew a long, shrill blast.

“Jim will come in as soon as possible, after hearing that sound,” smiled the cattle owner.

Jim Hornby rode in within five minutes.  He was a lean, long, roughened and reddened farm laborer, but when told that a boiled pudding was wanted he walked straight to the place where the supplies were kept.

“Everything here but berries,” Jim explained.  “Any of you boys know where to get some blueberries?”

Greg knew, and promptly departed with a pail.

Crackle!  Crackle!  Two brisk fires were now going in the burnt clearing, started by Dick at Mr. Ross’ direction.  By this time Mr. Ross’ other helper had come in, reporting that the cattle were quiet and grazing, and now this helper and his employer began to remove the hide from one of the cows.

“This cow was overcome by smoke and hot air as soon as it rushed into the blaze,” explained Mr. Ross.  “Therefore, this will be safe meat to eat.  When an animal, however, dies in pain, after much suffering, its flesh should never be used for food.  Bill, now that we’ve gotten the hide off you mount and ride back to the wagon.  Bring it along.”

Dan and Harry were still bringing in heavy firewood and stacking it up, while the ring of axes in the hands of Dave and Tom was heard.  It was a busy scene.

“Prescott, you’d better begin piling on the big wood now,” suggested Mr. Ross, after noting the sun’s position.

Things moved rapidly along.

“You might as well halt your wood cutters, unless you want their product for your own camp,” suggested the cattle owner, and Prescott sent the word to stop chopping.

Within twenty minutes the big wagon, drawn by a pair of mules, came up with Bill Hopple driving and his horse tied to the tailboard.

With a speed and skill born of long practice, Mr. Ross began to cut up the carcass of the cow.  Bill was busy making greenwood spits and arranging them over the two fires, Dan and Harry helping him.

Almost at a dead run came Greg Holmes through the woods, with two quarts of blueberries.  Over at the camp, as soon as he saw the berries, Jim Hornby began mixing his pudding batter.  He had already prepared his fire and had found a suitable kettle.

From watching the pudding game, Tom strolled through to the two fires in the clearing.

“This begins to look like a fine chance to eat,” sighed Tom full of contentment.

“Doing anything, Reade?” inquired the cattle owner, who had quickly learned all their names.

“No, sir.”

“Then suppose you take this heart of the cow over to your camp.  Put it on the fire in a kettle of salted water, and let it boil slowly.  By that means you will be able to serve up the heart for your evening meal.”

“Is there no end to this cow?” gasped Tom.