Nor was the march unenlivened by scenes of a merrier kind, for Pierre, Baptiste, and Monsieur Perrot kept up a constant round of fun and raillery around their camp–kettle; the latter continuing to act as chief cook for all the white men and half–bred in the party, and leaving the Delawares to dress their food after their own fancy. Provisions were abundant in the camp, and Perrot contrived by his ingenuity to give a variety both in appearance and flavour to supplies, which in truth consisted of little more than parched maize, biscuit, coffee, and bison–meat. He talked incessantly, and his lively sallies not only amused his two companions, but often drew a smile from Reginald, in spite of the anxiety occasioned by the object of the expedition. “Master Baptiste,” said the valet cook (as nearly as his language may be rendered into English), “methinks those great hands of yours are better skilled in chopping Sioux skulls, or felling bee–trees, than in the science of butchery; see here, what unchristian lumps of meat you have brought me to dress!” “Were it not for these great hands, as you call them,” replied the sturdy guide, “you, Master Perrot, with those fine–skinned fingers, would often ere this have seen little of either deer or bison–meat for your supper.” “As for that, I deny not that you are tolerably successful in hunting, and your load of venison is sometimes brought decently home; but in the cutting up of a bison, your education has been much neglected.” “It may be so, Monsieur Perrot,” answered Baptiste: “I do not pretend to much skill in the matter, and yet methinks I should understand as much of it as one who had never seen a bison a month since; and who could not now dress a cow’s udder half so well as an Osage squaw.” Pierre laughed outright at his comrade’s depreciation of Perrot’s culinary skill; and the latter, whose temper was not a whit ruffled by this disparagement of his talents, inquired with the utmost gravity, “Pray, Baptiste, instruct me in this matter, for I doubt not, although you have so grievously mutilated the ox, that your method of dressing the cow’s udder must be worth learning.” “Nay,” replied Baptiste, “I will show you that when we come among cows and squaws; meanwhile I recommend you to make yourself a spare peruke, as we may soon be running foul of those Osages, or some other roving Indians, who may chance to carry off that moveable scalp on the top of your head.” This allusion to Perrot’s disaster and narrow escape among the Sioux, turned the laugh against him; but he quickly checked its current by placing before his companions some buffalo steaks, and cakes of maize flour, which practically contradicted all that they had been saying in his disparagement of the good–humoured Frenchman’s cookery.