“While I’m getting some slices ready, do you kindle a fire, Harry, and I’ll soon give you one of the best meals of your life.”
“Don’t be too long about it,” said the boy, as he flew about to obey the request. “I think I can hold out about half an hour longer, and then I’ll be ready to begin on you.”
It required but a few minutes to gather a quantity of wood; but the hungry lad was in such impatient haste that he lost a great deal of time in starting a fire after it was ready. He succeeded at last, by which time Little Rifle had two large, tender slices, from the choicest part of the animal, dressed and ready for the coals.
Only a few minutes were required to prepare both, and then the lads made a meal, whose luscious richness can be understood only by those that have been placed in similar circumstances. As they crunched through the tender, juicy steaks, they could only roll their eyes at each other, without attempting to give expression to their enjoyment. Occasionally Harry indulged in a groan or sigh of happiness—but that was all.
Little Rifle had gauged the capacities of both, with no inconsiderable skill, and when his friend had made away with the last morsel, despite his loud predictions at the beginning of the meal, he was obliged to confess himself fully satisfied.
“I thought I could hold more than that,” he said, looking wistfully at the remains of the animal, “but, alas! for human ambition. Another mouthful and I would explode.”
As there was no cause for remaining longer where they were, they made ready to move on again toward old Robsart’s head-quarters, where Harry expected to obtain a rifle and start upon his return to the fort.
“Do you notice that clump of bushes over there?” asked Little Rifle, touching his arm and pointing to some scrubby shrubbery, but a short distance away.
“Yes; what of it? Is there another antelope there?”
“There is something, for I have noticed a movement, once or twice, while we were eating. Look out! there is an Indian and he is going to fire!”