“Could we not make bows?” suggested Winthrope. “There seems to be no end of game about.”
“Bows–and arrows without points! Neither of us could hit a barn door, anyway.”
“We could practise.”
“Sure–six weeks’ training on air pudding. I can do better with a handful of stones.”
“Then we should go at once to the cliffs,” said Miss Leslie.
“Now you’re talking–and it’s Pike Peak or bust, for ours. Here’s one night to the good; but we won’t last many more if we don’t get fire. It’s flints we’re after now.”
“Could we not make fire by rubbing sticks?” said Winthrope, recalling his suggestion of the previous morning. “I’ve heard that natives have no trouble–”
“So’ve I, and what’s more, I’ve seen ’em do it. Never could make a go of it myself, though.”
“But if you remember how it is done, we have at least some chance–”
“Give you ten to one odds! No; we’ll scratch around for a flint good and plenty before we waste time that way.”