Alongside a vast inland sea whose further shores were lost under the horizon, a tall young white man was cooking his supper in the open. The meal was going to be better than usual, for, having been camped in the same spot for a week, he had been able to secure game. On a spit before an ingeniously constructed fireplace of stones, a wild goose was roasting. The young man turned the spit, and basted his fowl. He kept the wooden spit from catching fire by the simple expedient of basting that also. At a little distance two Indians looked on with covert scorn at their master’s elaborate arrangements. What a lot of trouble to take to eat! They had been content to impale their goose for awhile on a stick inclined over the fire; whence they snatched it scorched on one side and raw on the other.
The young man, while taking an innocent pleasure in his own ingenuity, was thinking how unsatisfactory it was to cook your own dinner. When it first began to sizzle you became weak with hunger; but the continued spectacle took the fine edge off your appetite long before the meat was done.
A dug-out nosed its slender length around a near point, and a shrill hail electrified them all.
“Conacher, thank God!” cried the young man.
The two Indians ran down to the water’s edge; but their master would not leave his goose which was browning beautifully.
From the dug-out landed an exactly similar outfit; that is to say a tall young white man and two Indians. The two white men clasped hands, and their eyes beamed on each other. However, they were shy of betraying emotion before the reds, and their greeting was distinctly casual.
“Hello, old bean! Where the hell you been? The boss has gone down the lake, leaving me to fetch you. Do you know that you’ve held up the whole blooming survey?”
“It’s a long story,” said Conacher. “Oh boy! is that a roast goose I see? Let me get my teeth into it, and then I’ll tell you.”
When they had thoroughly discussed the goose, they lighted their pipes; and Alec Jordan invited Conacher to fire away. Jordan was about three years older than Conacher; and they were tried friends. The Indians around their own fire, were out of earshot.
“What delayed you?” said Jordan. “It was downstream work all the way.”