Watty took another look, then seasoned and saw to the fresh piece frizzling; and the next minute the smell and sight of the slice upon the stone were too tempting to be resisted longer, and he began upon it and finished it as ravenously as if he had not had a morsel before.
“Hey, put she is fine,” he murmured with a sigh of satisfaction; “she never hat such a gran’ treat pefore, an’ it would pe wicket to let such gude meat spoil by ketting caud. The captain an’ the tocktor poth said they wadna eat a pit, an’ perhaps Meester Stevey’s gone pack to ta ship or the poat pecause she was tired. She hasna the hairt to see such gude meat spoil.”
Poor Watty had grown reckless now, and, casting conscience to the winds, he went on with his banquet. His appetite seemed to increase as he went on, and, forgetful of bears, captains, doctors, Norsemen, and Steves, seeing, tasting, and enjoying the cooking and eating of these juicy, well-seasoned, delicious pieces of venison, time seemed to be no more for him, and he only awoke to his position as he shook out the contents of his pepper and salt rags on the last piece of meat, a goodly slice, the best of all, which he had avoided eating, always having selected the smaller bits.
“Hat she petter leave tat?” he sighed, as he looked at it longingly and passed his tongue over his lips. “Nay, if she toes, they’ll expeckit mair; put if there’s nane they winna say a word. She’ll hae to eat tat, too.”
The piece was half done, and he turned it, inhaling its delicious odour as he gloated over the brown side, and then took out his biscuits and had them ready.
“Chust to fanish off,” he said, smiling faintly. “She’ll chust pit it atween twa biscuit, an’ mak’ a santwich of it, an’ then—Yah!”
Watty uttered an unearthly yell, for a great shadow fell across the fire at that moment, and he was thrust sidewise, to fall just clear of the fire upon his face.
“The pears—the pears!” he groaned. “What shall she to?” But he did not stir, neither did he see that the piece of hot meat had been literally snatched off the fire, and a crunching sound told him that a pair of strong jaws, with great, white teeth that in imagination he could see gleaming, were grinding up the biscuits that were to form the finale of his meal.
“The pear always hugs her pefore she eats her oop,” thought Watty, as he lay there shivering with dread, this being the only movement he could contrive, feeling as he did that if he attempted to escape the great animal would seize him. Then he recollected reading about a traveller pretending to be dead, and lying face downward till a bear in pursuit overtook him, smelled him over, and then went away.
“She lie as tet as a toornail,” thought Watty; and he tried to hold his breath as he waited for the bear to come. But it was evidently too busy with the food, crunching up the biscuits and finishing the meat.