They had to endure an eternity of anxious waiting, huddled in a snowbank while a Nip patrol went by. Gunnar held on to his loot. He had gotten one glimpse of the contents, and it looked like food.
Their clothing was soaked with melted snow and sweat when at last they regained the comparative safety of their cave.
Gunnar had trouble with the container. The fastenings refused to unfasten.
"Quit stalling," Martha complained. "I'm hungry."
Finally Gunnar smashed the thing open with a chunk of rock and hacked off a couple of pieces with his trench knife. The meat resembled an outstandingly low grade of Spam, interspersed with bits of gristle that made tough chewing, and it had a strong gamey taste.
"Not American," Gunnar remarked.
"Some kind of ersatz, probably Jap," Martha commented between bites. They were too hungry to be choosey.
A sound from the cave's mouth interrupted their meal. Gunnar gripped his trench knife and pistol as he moved stealthily forward. Then he laughed.
"What is it?" Martha inquired, her gun ready, too.
The half-breed husky growled again, sniffed hungrily and entered the cave snarling. Old scars and new gashes in his flea-bitten hide showed his familiarity with the ways of Jap soldiery.