“Where was it stuck on—your back?”
“Nay, it was in my head if it was anywhere. Gahn! You’re laughing at me. Here! I know, Mr Nat; it’s Horn—Peter Horn. That’s it.”
“Well, you are a thick-skulled one, Pete, not to know your own name.”
“Yes,” replied the boy thoughtfully; “it’s being knocked about the head so did it, I s’pose. What shall I do now, sir? Light a fire?”
“Yes, at once,” I said, for the thought made me know that I was hungry. “Make it now between those pieces of rock yonder by the boat.”
The boy went off eagerly; Cross followed; and I went back, to find my uncle finishing the second skin.
“That’s a good beginning, Nat,” he said. “Now, then, the next thing is to see about breakfast.”
“And after that, uncle?”
“Then we’ll be guided by circumstances, Nat,” he replied. “What we have to do is to get into the wildest places we can find where its river, forest, or mountain.”
“Isn’t this wild enough?” I said.