"Once in a while it gets even worse than that," Lil Artha continued, gravely, "and they have to draw lots to see who will be sacrificed, so that the rest of the bunch can live."
"Aw! come off, and quit that!" cried George; "you're just trying to scare me, and it don't go worth a cent. Nobody is going to starve here in the woods where we can find some sort of meat to eat, even crow, if we have to come to it, or perhaps muskrat. That's a mighty poor joke, Lil Artha, let me tell you."
"Well, of course I'm hoping myself that things'll never get just that bad," the tall scout went on to say, "but only supposin' they did, and the choice fell on you, I'm wondering if ever afterwards the three of us would have to go around all our lives finding fault with everything. I wouldn't like that, George."
"But what about yourself?" demanded the other; "you might happen to be the first victim after all, Lil Artha."
"That makes me smile," he was informed, coolly; "d'ye think now anybody with eyes in his head would be so silly as to pick out a bony scarecrow like me when they could settle on a nice plump chicken of your build?" and he playfully dug his fingers in George's ribs as he said this.
"Let's change the subject," Toby broke in with; "this always talking of eatin' seems to jar on my nerves. It sets me to thinkin', and that empty larder stares me in the face. Something's got to be done about it."
"Sure it has," echoed Lil Artha, eying George closer so that the other squirmed uneasily, and edged further away from him.
"If we stay right where we are nothing will come to us, will there, Elmer?" Toby pursued.
"If you mean anything in the way of game we could hardly expect it," replied the scout master. "The fellow who generally gets there is the one who goes out and finds what he wants, and doesn't hang around home waiting for something to turn up. That's what wideawake scouts believe in."
"Hurrah! that's the ticket! And when can we make a start?" demanded Toby.