“The best thing I ever tasted,” said Loseis vivaciously, “was roast pig. Three years ago Jim Cornwall came through from the Crossing with dogs, and brought my father a little frozen pig on his sled for Christmas. We thawed him out and roasted him until his hide crackled. Oh, my dear! the smell alone would drive you crazy; and the taste was better than anything in the world. I can taste him now! Do you member, Mary-Lou?”
“I remember,” said Mary-Lou, closing her eyes. “I did taste that pig meat. It was sweeter than young porcupine; it was sweeter than moose-nose or the back-fat of caribou; it was sweeter than all meat.”
“And do you remember?” asked Loseis, “when they stuck the knife into him how a little stream of juicy fat ran down?”
“We soaked it up with bread,” said Mary-Lou.
The subject was inexhaustible. They discussed it with anxious, drawn, eager faces. It never occurred to them to laugh at each other or at themselves. When they finally slept they dreamed of feasting.
Another day of misery followed no different from the day before, except that the pangs of hunger were less sharp and more enervating. It was hard to keep walking. It nearly broke Conacher’s heart to see the boyish Loseis pressing on with set face, quite unconscious of how she was staggering in her tracks. He took the second gun from her. She fought like a little spitfire to regain it, weeping out of anger and weakness. Her anger smoldered all the rest of the day, making the way even more bitter. Mary-Lou stood starvation better than either of the whites. They found another tantalizing patch of berries; and wasted hours looking for more. As on the night before, their supper consisted of a small strip of boiled hide apiece.
On the third day of starvation it seemed a wonder that they were able to move at all. Nevertheless they staggered on for a few miles. To add to their miseries it rained copiously; and their blankets soaked up some additional pounds of water. All day a division existed between Conacher and Loseis that was harder to bear than starvation. It was due to nothing in the world but compassion. It made each tender heart rage to behold the misery of the other. Especially Conacher’s, because he told himself that no woman ought to be subjected to such an ordeal. He supposed from Loseis’ black looks that she was blaming him for having led her into this, and he was ready to blow his brains out.
The little stream having received a tributary from the south, flowed with increased speed and volume. It now held a fairly straight course for the northwest; and it became evident that the whole country was sloping gently in that direction. The walls of the coulee gradually became higher; in the bottom it was now continuously wooded; but they felt too weak to climb down for a few berries. These changes in the country suggested that they were approaching the bottom of the watershed, and at midday from a rise in the prairie, Conacher at last beheld a blue shadow athwart the westerly horizon which indicated the valley of a considerable river. It seemed like a mockery now. It was a good twenty-five miles distant, and in their weakened state that was half a world away.
At the end of the day they made a detour from the coulee to visit a small slough and a poplar bluff that they had marked from a rise. It was a likely place to find bear. There was no bear, but the water of the slough was sweet, and they determined to spend the night in that spot. Will it be our last camp? Conacher thought with dread in his heart. The sky was still threatening, and he constructed an inclined thatch of poplar leaves, with a fire in front for the girls. They chewed their strips of boiled hide. This finished one moccasin, except for the ragged lower part, that Mary-Lou had bound round her foot. Afterwards, when Loseis, with a cold face, turned to seek her blanket, Conacher felt that he could bear no more.
“Loseis . . . !” he murmured heart-brokenly.