“What do you think of me, Tom? Do you suppose I would consent to fare better than my husband and son, and this boy, who seems like one of us? No, Tom, you should judge your mother better.”
“You have shut me up, mother. I can’t say anything in answer to that.”
“I will show you that a woman has as much fortitude as a man. Besides, I do not have to work as hard as you. I can bear the deprivation better.”
The days following were days of intense anxiety. Every morning, when they set out on their daily march, there was a prayer in the heart of each that something would happen before the sun set that would relieve them from the haunting fear of famine.
But in all these days they met no one, and overtook no one. The sun rose hot and fiery, making the great alkali plain seem still more arid and cheerless. So far as they could see, they were the only people in the world; for, look as they might, they could see no other evidence of human habitation. But in the distance it was a relief to perceive some low rising hills, and by night time they reached an oasis, and, what cheered their hearts, a small stream of water, for they were very nearly out, and had felt the need of economizing. Now the oxen, and the horse, as well as themselves, were allowed to drink ad libitum. The animals drank with evident gratification, and looked sensibly cheered and relieved.
“Now, if we could only find some food, I should be perfectly happy,” said Grant.
Only a few crackers were left, but these, dipped in the water, became palatable. But the serious question arose: “What would they do when these were gone?” It was a question that none of them could answer.
“I have often wondered, Grant,” said Tom, “what it was like to want food. I begin to understand it now. I remember one day a poor tramp came to our door, who said he had not tasted food for forty-eight hours. I looked at him with curiosity. I could not understand how this could happen to any one. All my life I had never known what it was to want food. I even doubted his word; but when mother invited him into the kitchen and set a plate of meat and bread before the poor fellow, the eagerness with which the famished wretch ate satisfied me that he had told the truth. Now, Grant, I will make a confession.”
“What is it, Tom? Have you murdered any one?” asked Grant, with forced hilarity.
“Not that I remember. My confession is of a different nature. For four days—during the whole time that I have been on half rations—I have felt a perpetual craving for food.”