“’Tis strange,” admitted David, “not bein’ so hungry. But I feels like I could eat anything that could be et, and I’m sleepy, too.”
That is the way with folk who starve. While there’s a bit of food to be had the appetite remains keen, and troublesome, but when the food is gone, a day or two of fastin’ finds the appetite waning, and the eyes growing heavy and drowsy, and over the body steals lassitude and weariness.
David and Andy were prisoners, but it was not their nature to give up and resign themselves to their fate until every expedient had been tried. Thomas had said there was a way out of every fix. This was a bad fix—the worst they had ever been in, they were sure, but if there was a way out of it they must try to discover the way.
“There must be a way, now, Davy!” Andy declared, after a long discussion. “Pop says there’s no fix so bad we can’t get out of un if we only thinks out how.”
“If we had any lashin’,” suggested David, “we might fix up somethin’ that would do for snowshoes. But there’s no deerskin, and there’s nothin’ else, I’m thinkin’, would do.”
“There’s th’ rope on th’ flatsled,” said Andy hopefully.
“That wouldn’t make th’ net for one snowshoe,” objected David.
“Let’s get some sticks and bend un into snowshoe frames, and maybe we’ll think o’ some way t’ net un,” suggested Andy. “’Twill be tryin’, whatever!”
“Aye,” agreed David, “’twill be doin’ somethin’, but I’m seein’ no way t’ make th’ nettin’.”