“I’ve heard that the French eat horse-flesh. If it comes to the worst, we can kill your horse and try a horse-steak.”
“It’s all he’s fit for, and he ain’t fit for that. We’ll move on for a couple of hours and see if somethin’ won’t turn up. I tell you, Joe, I’d give all the money I’ve got for some of marm’s johnny-cakes. It makes me feel hungrier whenever I think of ’em.”
“I sympathize with you, Joshua,” said Joe. “We may as well be movin’ on, as you suggest. We may come to some cabin, or party of travelers.”
So they mounted their beasts and started. Joe went ahead, for his animal was much better than the sorry nag which Mr. Bickford bestrode. The latter walked along with an air of dejection, as if life were a burden to him.
“If I had this critter at home, Joe, I’ll tell you what I’d do with him,” said Mr. Bickford, after a pause.
“Well, what would you do with him?”
“I’d sell him to a sexton. He’d be a first-class animal to go to funerals. No danger of his runnin’ away with the hearse.”
“You are not so hungry but you can joke, Joshua.”
“It’s no joke,” returned Mr. Bickford. “If we don’t raise a supply of provisions soon, I shall have to attend my own funeral. My mind keeps running on them johnny-cakes.”
They rode on rather soberly, for the exercise and the fresh morning air increased their appetites, which were keen when they started.