“And not even that for breakfast,” Valbonais said lightly. “I must get up early and shoot some game. There is no corn matured yet, so if we came to growing fields the juicy ears would not be there. But I think I can find something,” hopefully.
This night they had to have a forest bed, but he found a place soft with a kind of dried turf, and spread out one blanket for pallet and left one to cover them with. Then he kindled a fire at some distance, for he had heard the cry of an animal. Farther off, then nearer, a stealthy creeping along. He reached for his gun and glanced cautiously around. Presently he caught the glare of two sparks of flame coming nearer, crouching down, and he fired.
“Oh, what is it?” Wawataysee sprang up in affright.
“Some animal. I think he is dead, however.” He lighted a torch and went nearer, touched the creature with his foot. The shot had hit him squarely, shattering his head.
“Only a poor fox. Nothing for our breakfast;” yet he gave a cheerful laugh.
“Oh, I am glad it was nothing worse.”
“Do not dream of trouble. The good God will watch over us.”
She pressed his hand. She was glad to be near a lightsome, courageous human being.
Presently she stole back to her bed. Nothing else came to startle them. When she woke again the sun was shining. Valbonais had kindled a fire, shot and dressed some birds and was broiling them before the coals.
“Was it a dream,” she asked, “or did you really shoot in the night?”