“Nothing!” Dick’s eyes were tragic.
The young Scotchman averted his face.
“Cripes!” he choked.
When he turned toward Dick again the latter experienced a momentary feeling of utter discouragement and despair. Slow starvation—had it come to that? He noticed how gaunt and drawn his chum’s face was.
“Every minute that we have to spare, we must practice with these bows and arrows, Sandy,” Dick told him. “It’s our only salvation. In time we’ll grow expert in their use. I had a chance once to take up archery and now I wish I had.”
They heard a shout near at hand. The bushes parted and Toma plunged forward to join them. Toma was carrying something. What was it? Staring, Sandy suddenly let out a whoop and bounded forward to meet him.
“A porcupine!” he shouted. “Dick, Dick, come here! A porcupine and two rabbits! Thank God for that.”
Dick merely stood there, gasping—doubting the evidence of his own senses. A queer feeling swept through him. It was not merely joy at the successful outcome of their hunt, but a feeling of relief, of tension relaxed. The future did not look quite so dark now. With food they could make it. Good old Toma! Faithful ever, a wonderful help in time of stress or emergency.
All the boys contended that they had never tasted anything so good as that porcupine, which they roasted, Indian fashion, over the fire. When they had eaten they were actually happy. For nearly an hour Toma instructed them in the use of their bows and arrows. Then they sat down to decide what to do next.
“I don’t know what would be the best plan,” puzzled Dick, “keep on as we’re doing or retrace our steps to the river. What would you boys suggest?”