“It’s all in a day’s adventure,” said Johnny. “Mystery and adventure add to the joy of life. Meanwhile, between us, we have a supply of food.”
“Yes, and such a supply!”
“We had better take as much as we can carry,” Johnny sighed. He was thinking of the weary trek back to camp. “The part we can’t carry away on our further journeys we can hide up in the rocks where foxes and wolverines can’t get at it. It’s a good thing to have a storehouse to which one may return.”
The girl agreed. Drawing her hunting knife, she assisted him quite skilfully in skinning the great beast and preparing the meat for packing.
Once as she straightened up, he read in her eyes a question. She was looking at the skin which he thought of only as waste product.
“I’ve seen pictures of boats made of skin drawn over a framework of wood,” she said.
“The Eskimos make them so. Large ones. Thirty-five feet long.”
“This skin is tough,” she said. “It’s large, too. I wonder—”
“Hate to trust it,” said Johnny. “Ice might cut a hole in it, then where’d you be? Fresh water ice isn’t like salt water ice. Salt water ice is crumbly. Fresh water ice is like flint. It gets a cutting edge.”
She said no more.