They set forth briskly enough; but were very glad to rest when mid-morning came. All of them were now feeling very painful gnawings, but they concealed it from each other. Conacher prowled over the prairie in vain. They listlessly resumed their march.
During the course of the afternoon they came unexpectedly to the lip of a deep coulee with a trickle of water in the bottom. To Conacher’s dismay it proved to be flowing in a southerly direction. This was exactly opposite to what he expected. It was against all the theories as to the lay of this unexplored land, and he was ready to despair. However, there was nothing to do but to keep on the way they were going.
An hour later they crossed it again. The water was now flowing north, and Conacher’s mind was somewhat relieved. Upon this second crossing they found more water than before in the streamlet, and a fringe of spruce trees, the first grown trees they had seen since leaving Blackburn’s River. They also found, what was more important to them, berry-bushes, and a patch of wild strawberries. Only the strawberries were ripe. Before eating any, they carefully collected them in their little cooking pot, and scrupulously divided them. There was about a cupful apiece.
The berries were deliciously refreshing; but they seemed to have the effect of still further sharpening the pangs of hunger. They searched far up and down the coulee for more, but in vain. It was an isolated patch of trees and bushes.
“Let us get on,” Conacher kept urging the girls. “We must reach a game country before our strength fails.”
They wearily climbed the steep side of the coulee to the endless rolling prairie again, that they now hated. On this day they suffered a keener pain from hunger than during the days that followed. All three became tight-lipped and silent. Their limbs were leaden; and progress was painfully slow. Twice more they crossed the coulee. No more trees or berries. It was now evident that the general course of the little stream was northwest, which was in line with Conacher’s calculations. It was undoubtedly a tributary of the big river they were seeking: but whether the river were ten miles or a hundred miles further, it was impossible to tell. It was exasperating in their fatigued condition to climb in and out of the steep coulee so many times: but even so they made better time than they could have done by following it throughout its crazy windings.
Seeing more spruce trees, they descended into it to spend the night, but found no berries here. They heaped a great fire and made themselves soft beds of spruce boughs: but their empty stomachs refused to be assuaged by these luxuries. Mary-Lou cut three small strips from the top of one of her worn-out moccasins, and boiled them, and handed them around.
“Chew,” she said. “It will stop the pains anyhow.”
Afterwards a curious false strength seemed to come to them. They felt no desire to sleep, but sat up for hours around their fire under the spruces, talking animatedly with flushed faces and bright eyes.
“When I was a kid,” said Conacher, “I had a grand-uncle in New York, who was a great old high-liver. Never thought about anything but eats. He knew all the best restaurants in the city, and what was the proper thing to order in each place. He took me out to dinner a couple of times when I was a boy. Once we went to Delmonico’s. I have never forgotten what we ate that day. First oysters. I suppose you don’t know oysters, Loseis. Well, they are the best eating there is. Slip down your throat like velvet. Then a thick soup that was called potage Mongole. God knows what was in it. It was a combination of all the most delicious flavors you ever knew. Then there was something that was called Tournedos Henri Quatre. It was like beef, but it was the sauce that made all the difference. The French are wizards for sauces. We ended up with mince pie; good old American mince pie; and there’s nothing better! Oh, what a feed that was!”