“No, father; we lay down to keep awake till it was time to call you,” cried Chris.
“Ah, yes, I know. Griggs told me; but you didn’t keep awake. Now then, go and have a wash, and then come and help me do some cooking. Be sharp.”
“One moment, father. Have you heard or seen any Indians?”
“No, not one. And look here; you’ll be attending to the fire when you come back; don’t make it up with green wood, but pick up the pieces of the dry and dead. I don’t want more smoke than we can possibly help to be rising up above the trees. Now: off!”
There was water near at hand, but no time to undress for a swim, and the boys were soon back, with the stiffness produced by the previous day’s exertion dying out before the bright buoyancy produced by a sound sleep in the beautiful cool, elastic air, while the feeling of ravenous appetite that began to attack them made their task of shifting wooden fresh green spits, rather than skewers, laden with pieces of bird, from place to place, where they could catch most heat from the glowing embers, one that was tantalisingly hard.
There was bread-cake, too, in the hot ashes, and water boiling in the big tin, ready for the tea to be thrown in, and very soon afterwards the whole party were restoring strength over as delicious a breakfast as could fall to the lot of hungry men and boys, who never once troubled themselves at the want of milk, a table, or chairs.
“Now,” said the doctor at last, “the sooner we’re off the better; so pack up.”
“Do you mean to follow our yesterday’s trail?” said Bourne.
“Certainly,” said the doctor. “There is only that, or to go back; and we can’t do that.”
“Certainly not,” came in chorus.