Both had a good idea of direction, and, despite the darkness, they advanced in a fairly straight line toward the point they sought. But they found it rough traveling through the thick undergrowth, among briers and across ravines and gulleys. Meanwhile, old King Hunger, bristling and fearsome, seized them and rent them with his fangs. There was no resisting. They must even suffer and stand it as best they could.
"I think it's at least a thousand hours until day," said Bill Breakstone at last. "Do you know, Phil, I've got to the point where I'd enjoy one of those stage banquets that I've often had. You don't really eat anything. The plates are empty, the glasses are empty, and, empty as they all are, they're generally whisked away before you can get a good long look at them. But there's something soothing and filling about them anyway. Maybe it's an illusion, but if an illusion is of the right kind, it's just the right kind of thing that you ought to have."
"An illusion may be all right for you, Bill," returned Phil, "but what about some of those dinners you can get in New Orleans. Oyster soup, Bill; fish fresh from the gulf, Bill; nice old Virginia ham, Bill; stuffed Louisiana: turkey, Bill; a haunch of venison, Bill; fried chicken, Bill; lamb chops, Bill; and a lot of other things that money can buy in New Orleans, Bill?"
"If you weren't my best friend, Phil, and if you hadn't just saved my life, I might make an attack upon you with the intent of bodily harm. You surely make me sour with your talk about the whole provision train that can be bought in New Orleans with money. Hear that old owl hooting! He's just laughing at us. I'd stop and shoot him if we had light enough for a shot."
"Never mind the owl, Bill," said Phil. "Perhaps when we get that good juicy deer we're looking for we can hoot back at him, if we feel like it."
"That's so," said Bill, although he said it gloomily.
They advanced in silence another hour, and then Phil, who was a little in advance, stopped suddenly. He had seen the gleam of water, and he pointed it out to his comrade.
"A spring," said Bill Breakstone, "and it's been trampled around the edges by many hoofs and paws."
He stooped and tasted the water. Then he uttered a mighty sigh of satisfaction.
"A salt spring, too," he said. "We're in luck, Phil. I see our breakfast coming straight toward us at this spring, walking briskly on four legs. The wild animals always haunt such places, and if we don't have savory steaks before the sun is an hour high, then I'm willing to starve to death. We must find an ambush. Here it is! Luck's a funny thing, Phil. It goes right against you for awhile, and nothing seems able to break it. Then it turns right around and favors you, and no fool thing that you do seems to change it. But I guess it evens up in the long run."