“Rib of an old buffalo or a dead horse.”
“What for?”
“To make a bow, my lad. It would only be a short one, but wonderfully strong. You’d have to use short arrows, and it would be hard to pull, but with a bow like that you could send an arrow through a deer. But as we haven’t got one, nor any chance of finding one, we must do the best with this.”
Rob watched with the greatest of interest the progress of the bow, busying himself the while with the string, which was finished first; and as it displayed a disposition to unwind and grow slack, it was thoroughly wetted and stretched between two boughs to dry.
“Shall you succeed in getting a bow made?” said Brazier, coming up.
“Oh yes, sir, I think so,” said the guide; “better bow than archer, I’m thinking, without Mr Rob here surprises us all by proving himself a clever shot.”
“Don’t depend upon me,” said Rob mournfully, for his thoughts were upon Joe and his sad end, and when by an effort he got rid of these depressing ideas, his mind filled with those of the Indians turning against them in so cowardly a way, leaving them to live or die, just as it might happen, while they escaped with the plunder in the boat.
“What are you thinking about, Rob?” said Brazier, after speaking to him twice without eliciting an answer.
“Of the men stealing our boat. It was so cruel.”
“Don’t you fret about it, Mr Rob! They’ll soon get their doo of punishment for it. Worst day’s work they ever did in their lives. You’d think that chaps like they would have known better, but they’re just like children. They see something pretty, and they’ll do anything to get hold of it, and when they’ve got it they find it’s of no use to ’em and are tired of it in an hour. I’ll be bound to say they’re wishing they hadn’t gone and were back along of us.”