With this conclusion, they set about those little preparations which they could foresee as being necessary to an undivided use of their time after entering upon their work. Their clothes, and particularly their shoes, began to give signs of decay. Frank's shoes had for some time been gaping incontinently at the toes, looking for all the world, Sam said, as if they were laughing.
Harold, foreseeing the necessity before it occurred, had put some deer-skins in soak, wrapped up in lime made from burnt oyster shells; and after removing the hair loosened by this means, had stretched them in the sun, and softened them by frequent applications of suet. The skins were ready now for use; and as soon as it was determined to delay their visit to the prairie, he brought one of them to the tent, and calling to Frank, said,
"Lend me your foot a minute, Master Frank, and I will give you a pair of moccasins."
"Not the snakes, I hope," replied Frank.
"No, but something of the same name," said Harold; "I am going to turn shoemaker, and make you a pair of Indian shoes. I need a pair myself."
"And so do I--and I!" echoed Robert and Mary.
"Indeed, at this rate," said Harold, "we may as well all turn shoemakers, and fit ourselves out in Indian style."
Harold planted Frank's foot upon the leather, which he drew up close around it, and marked at the heel, toe, and instep. He then cut it according to the measure, and there being but one short seam at the heel, and another from the toe to the instep, the sewing was soon finished. Frank tried it on, and for a first attempt the fit was very good. The fellow to this was barely completed, before two reports of Robert's gun, following in quick succession, came lumbering down the river. Fidelle pricked up her ears, and Harold, recalling vividly the panther scene, gave her the word to "hie on," and seizing his own gun followed rapidly along the shore. He had not proceeded far before a turn in the bluff revealed the figure of Robert, moving about the beach, and throwing at something in the water. He saw, too, that when Fidelle came up, Robert patted her, and pointing to the river, she plunged in and brought out a dark looking object, which she laid on a pile already at his feet. Arriving at the spot, he saw six water-fowl, between the size of a duck and a goose, of a kind entirely new to him, and which Robert assured him were brant.
"O Harold!" Robert exclaimed, "the shore was lined with them. I crept behind the bluff and killed four at my first shot, and three at my second, though one of them fell in the marsh and is lost. A little further up was a large flock of mallards, feeding upon the acorns of the live oak. I could have killed even more of them than of these, but I preferred the brant."
"You startled me," said Harold; "I did not know you had left the tent until I heard your gun, and then fearing you had got into another panther scrape, I dispatched Fidelle to your aid."