“Guess you’ll get a taste of real roughing it,” Bob said to Rex, as they placed the canoe on the ground bottom up.
“Reckon I can stand it if the rest of you can,” Rex smiled.
“You’re game all right,” Bob assured him.
“Let’s take an account of stock and see what we’ve got,” Jack proposed.
“That heap good,” Kernertok nodded his head. “Mebby we got much, mebby not.”
“I’m afraid the mebby not has it,” Bob said a moment later, after they had all searched through their pockets. “Still it might be worse.”
Each of them had a jack knife and Kernertok a small hatchet, which he usually carried strapped in his belt. The boys had their automatics, but all the ammunition save what was in the guns was lost. Bob had a water-proof match-safe containing a dozen matches and Jack found a short fish line and three hooks. That was all that they felt would be of any help to them.
“Well, if Jack Knowles could live six weeks in the Maine woods with absolutely nothing but his bare hands to depend on, I reckon we’ll make out,” Bob declared optimistically.
“It’s a cinch,” Jack agreed.
“Whatever you say goes here,” Rex added.