general direction of the camp, but not rapidly.
'If the cook's as slow as Newt, they won't be here till next week,' Gus said.
'What are they doing?' Call asked. They were certainly doing something. Instead of simply coming to camp they were walking around in circles, as if looking for lost objects.
'The cook's got a donkey, only he don't ride it,' Pea Eye remarked. 'He says it ain't civilized to ride animals.'
'Why, the man's a philosopher,' Augustus said.
'That's right-I just hired him to talk to you,' Call said. 'It would free the rest of us so maybe we could work.'
A few minutes later Newt and Po Campo walked up to the wagon, trailed at a good distance by the donkey. It turned out they had been gathering bird's eggs. They were carrying them in the old man's serape, which they had stretched between them, like a hammock.
'
'Why can't we have it now?' Augustus asked. 'You're here and I see you brought the eggs.'
'Yes, but I need my skillet,' Po Campo said. 'I'm glad I spotted those plovers. It's not every day I find this many plover's eggs.'
'It's not every day I eat them,' Augustus said. 'What'd you say your name was?'
'Po Campo,' the old man said. 'I like this boy here. He helped me gather these eggs, although he's bunged up from gettin' throwed.'
'Well, I'm Augustus McCrae,' Augustus said. 'You'll have to do the best you can with this rough old crew.'
Po Campo whistled at his donkey. 'Plover's eggs are better than quail's eggs,' he said. 'More taste, although quail's eggs aren't bad if you boil them and let them cool.'
He went around the camp shaking hands with each man in turn. By the time he had finished meeting the crew the donkey had arrived, and in a remarkably short time Po Campo had unpacked a huge skillet, made himself a little grill with a couple of branding irons laid across two chunks of firewood, and had scrambled up sixty or seventy plover's eggs. He sprinkled in a few spices from his pack and cooked the eggs until they could be cut in slices, like an egg pie. After sampling his own wares and grunting cryptically, he gave each man a slice. Some, like Jasper, were reluctant to sample such exotic fare, but once they had eaten a bite or two their reluctance disappeared.
'Dern, this is the best bird-egg pie I ever tasted,' Jasper admitted. 'It's better than hen's eggs.'
'Don't you even know an omelet when you see one, Jasper?' Augustus said. He was miffed to see the new cook become a hero in five minutes, whereas he had cooked excellent biscuits for years and drawn little praise.
'It's just a plain omelet, made from plover's eggs,' he added, for emphasis. 'I could have scrambled one up if I'd known you boys had a taste for such things.'
'Tonight I intend to fry some grasshoppers,' Po Campo remarked. He was watching the two blue pigs-they in their turn were watching him. They had come out from under the wagon in order to eat the eggshells.
'If you're thinking of them pigs, don't bother,' Augustus said. 'If they want grasshoppers, let them catch their own. They're quick as rabbits.'
'No, I am going to fry some for Newt,' Po Campo said. 'He claims he has never eaten a good fried grasshopper dipped in molasses. It makes a good dessert if you fry them crisp.'
The crew burst out laughing at the thought of eating grasshoppers. Po Campo chuckled too. He had already dismantled his little grill and was scouring the frying pan with a handful of weeds.
Call felt relieved. It was easy to see Po Campo had a way with men. Everyone looked happy except Gus, who was in a sulk because he had been outcooked. Gus always liked to be the best at whatever there was to do.
'I liked that bird's-egg pie but I draw the line at eating insects,' Jasper said.
'I wish I had some sweet potatoes,' Augustus said. 'I'd show you girls how to make a pie.'
'I hear you cook good biscuits,' Po Campo said, smiling at him.
'That's right,' Augustus said. 'There's an art to biscuit making, and I learned it.'
'My wife was good at it too,' Po Campo remarked. 'I liked her biscuits. She never burned them on the bottom.'
'Where's she live, Mexico?' Augustus asked, curious as to where the short old man had come from.
'No, she lives in hell, where I sent her,' Po Campo said quietly, startling everyone within hearing. 'Her behavior was terrible, but she made good biscuits.'
There was a moment of silence, the men trying to decide if they were supposed to believe what they had just heard.
'Well, if that's where she is, I expect we'll all get to eat her biscuits, one of these days,' Augustus said. Even he was a little startled. He had known men who had killed their wives, but none so cool about admitting it as Po Campo.
'That's why I hope I go to heaven,' Po Campo said. 'I don't want nothing more to do with that woman.'
'This here ain't Montana,' Call said. 'Let's start the cattle.'
That night, true to his word, Po Campo fried some grasshoppers. Before he got around to it he fed the crew a normal meal of beefsteak and beans and even conjured up a stew whose ingredients were mysterious but which all agreed was excellent. Allen O'Brien thought it was better than excellent-it changed his whole outlook on life, and he pressed Po Campo to tell him what was in it.
'You saw me gathering it,' Po Campo said. 'You should have watched better.'
True to his principles, he had refused to ride the donkey or climb up on the wagon seat beside Lippy. 'I better walk,' he said. 'I might miss something.'
'Might miss getting snakebit,' Lippy said. Since the incident on the Nueces he had developed such a terror of snakes that he slept in the wagon and even stood on the wagon seat to urinate.
Po Campo had walked all day, a hundred yards or so west of the herd, trailing two sacks he had tucked in his belt. Now and then he would put something in one of them, but nobody saw what unless it was the pigs, who trailed the old man closely. All that could be said was that his stew was wonderfully flavorsome. Deets ate so many helpings that he grew embarrassed about his appetite.
It was Deets who first got up his nerve to sample the fried grasshoppers. Since the new cook had the crew in such a good mood, Call allowed him to use a little of the molasses they were saving for special occasions. Just having someone who could cook decently was a special occasion, though. like the men, he put no stock in eating grasshoppers.
But Po Campo had caught a big sackful, and when his grease was hot he sprinkled them into it five or six at a time. When he judged they were done he used the tip of a big knife to flick them out onto a piece of cheesecloth. Soon he had forty or fifty fried, and no one rushing to eat them.
'Eat them,' he said. 'They're better than potatoes.'
'May be, but they don't look like potatoes,' Allen O'Brien said. 'They look like bugs.'
'Dish, you're a top hand, you ought to take the first helping,' Augustus said. 'None of us would want to cut you out of your turn.'
'You're welcome to my dang turn,' Dish said. 'I pass on eatin' bugs.'
'What's holding you back, Gus?' Needle Nelson asked.
'Wisdom,' Augustus said.
Finally Deets walked over and picked up one of the grasshoppers. He was inclined to trust a man who could cook such flavorsome stew. He grinned, but didn't eat it right away.
'Put a little molasses on it,' Po Campo urged.
Deets dipped the grasshopper in the little dish of molasses.
'I don't guess it will kill him but I bet it makes him vomit,' Lippy said, watching the proceedings from the safety of the wagon seat.
'I wish you'd fry up some of these mosquitoes,' Augustus said. 'I doubt they'd make good eating, but at least we'd be rid of them.'
Then Deets ate the grasshopper. He crunched it, chewed, and then reached for another, grinning his big grin. 'Tastes just like candy,' he said.
After he had eaten three or four he offered one to Newt, who covered it liberally with molasses. To his surprise, it tasted fine, though mostly what tasted was the molasses. The grasshopper itself just tasted crunchy, like the
