“Yes, sir. We’ll wait, sir. And good luck to ye,” answered Terry.
Sitting numb and lax beside the baggage, they watched the lieutenant go stumbling and swerving among the cedars, until he had disappeared.
“A great-hearted little officer,” Freegift remarked. “Myself, I couldn’t take another step. I’m clean petered out, at last. But him—away he goes, never askin’ a rest.”
“And he’ll be back. You can depend on that,” put in Terry. “Yes. He’ll not be thinking of himself. He’s thinking mainly on his men. He’ll be back with the meat, before he eats a bite.”
They heard nothing. The long day dragged; sometimes they dozed—they rarely moved and they rarely spoke; they only waited. Up here it was very quiet, with a few screaming jays fluttering through the low trees. Stub caught himself nodding and dreaming: saw strange objects, grasped at meat, and woke before he could eat. He wondered if Freegift and Terry saw the same.
The sun set, the air grew colder.
“Another night,” Freegift groaned. “He’s not comin’. Now what if he’s layin’ out somewheres, done up!”
“If he’s still alive he’s on his feet, and seeking help for us,” Terry asserted. “He said to wait and he’d come. You can depend on him. Orders be orders. He found us, below, and he’ll find us here.”
“We’ve got to suck deer-hide, then,” announced Freegift. “It may carry us over.”
They managed to arouse themselves; half boiled strips of deer-hide in a kettle of snow-water, and chewed at the hairy, slimy stuff. But they couldn’t swallow it.