Without turning around, Philippe responded, “My father imported a number of them from Spain.”
Philippe didn’t catch the look Reuben and Johannes exchanged. His groping hand found what he was looking for and turning, he triumphantly held up a small sack of Arbuckle’s Coffee. “Amigos, you’re right in time for the best cup of café this side of that range of mountains,” he swept his arm expansively down the vista of the Rockies.
Reuben laughed and dismounted. “We’ve been going since sunup, and a short break for the best kafee this side of the Rockies ought not to do any harm.”
Smiling, Philippe poured water from his water bag into a small pot, and efficiently built a fire with sagebrush, which reduced to coals quickly. He placed two flat-sided rocks inside the fire ring on either side of the coal bed he gathered into a smoldering heap. Placing the pot on the rocks, he grinned at Reuben and Johannes. “Keeps soot off the bottom. I hate soot in my saddlebags.”
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