"Of course it isn't!" Jack was quick to say, springing to his feet and stepping forward, knife in hand.
It was evident from the manner in which he conducted the business that he had done it before. He extracted a goodly-sized piece from near the shoulder, and dressed it as well as he could with the only means at command.
Rob had hit upon what might be called a compromise. When one of the three slices, into which the portion was divided, was handed to him, he struck match after match from the rubber safe he carried, and held the tiny flame against different portions of the meat.
Anything like cooking was out of the question, but he succeeded in scorching it slightly, and giving it a partial appearance of having seen the fire.
"There!" he exclaimed, in triumph, holding it aloft; "it's done to a turn, that is the first turn. It's cooked, but it's a little rare, I'll admit."
Meanwhile, Fred imitated him, using almost all the matches he possessed.
CHAPTER XIV
A COLLISION
Jack scorned everything of the kind, and he ate his piece with as much gusto as if it had passed through the hands of a professional cook. The boys managed to dispose of considerable, so that it may be said the little party made a fair meal from the supply so unexpectedly provided them.
The primitive meal finished, the three friends remained seated and discussed the future, which was now the all-important question before them.
"How long is this fog likely to last?" asked Fred.