They scattered to these tasks, glad to have something to occupy their hands. Expecting momentarily to be interrupted, they worked hard and swiftly, always keeping their ears sharpened for hoof-beats on the trail. But there were no alarms. Midday came; they finished their work; and Blackburn’s Post still basked undisturbed in the sunshine.
While Mary-Lou cooked the dinner, Conacher took stock of their supplies. There was ample food, firewood and ammunition—they had taken care to transfer the entire stock of ammunition from the store; but the water supply gave him cause for anxiety. The entire stock of vessels capable of holding water consisted of three small kegs, half a dozen pails and some small pots. The Slavis carried water in birch-bark receptacles.
“Barely a week’s supply,” said Conacher ruefully.
“If the worst comes to the worst we’ll have to cut out washing,” said Loseis smiling. “The Slavis get along without washing.”
After dinner they lounged in front of the house again. This was the hardest time to put in. The uncertainty of what to expect kept them keyed up to a painful pitch. Conacher wished to creep up to the top of the hill to reconnoiter; but Loseis would not hear of it.
“Would you take me with you?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“No, of course not!” said Loseis. “You know very well we might walk smack into a trap.”
They endlessly discussed their chances.
“If Tatateecha makes thirty miles again to-day,” said Conacher; “that will complete one-fifth of the whole distance. . . .”