Meanwhile they went and turned over logs to get black crickets for bait. Then with the crickets in an empty tin, with a perforated lid, which formed part of Tom’s kit, they tried their luck for perch, and were rewarded.
As Dave was only a green hand, Tom showed him how to cook the perch by digging a hole and filling it with hot ashes, covering them in whole and unsealed. When the fish were cooked they “peeled” them, and took the insides out, and they went well. The pigeon had been duly plucked and roasted on a very small fire, because it was not safe to light a big fire on account of the smoke; and the two boys ate their meal with an additional relish—a relish which is known only to the true hunter, and they lay down and slept.
Dusk came down quickly, and our two juvenile adventurers awoke in the warm stillness of evening wondering where they were.
“By gosh!” exclaimed Tom Pagdin, sitting up, “it’s comin’ night an’ it smells like a storm.”
“We’ve slept too long,” remarked Dave, anxiously examining the small patch of red-looking sky visible through the trees. “We oughter set our watches.”
“It don’t matter for this time,” returned Tom, “because we ain’t likely to get too much sleep to-night. We got a lot of adventures to go through. I reckon our real adventures is only just beginnin’.”
“I’m as hungry as old Nick,” remarked Dave.
“So am I,” replied Tom. “We’ll have a feed of cold meat an’ bread an’ go.”
They refilled themselves, and then, before it was quite dark, rolled up their bundles and took them across to the edge of the island.