“That’s true; and I’m not played out, let me tell you,” Roger asserted; “only we might just as well have had horses, and taken things easy. The Wolf could have run alongside, and we’d have reached the salt-lick quicker than we seem likely to do at this rate.”
“I’ve been trying to get it out of him how much farther we have to go; it’s like pounding a hole through a rock; but at last he seemed to understand, and held up three fingers. But just what that means is the question. It might be that we are three miles away from the salt-lick; and then again perhaps it’s still three hours’ walk.”
“Well, we’ll have to grin and bear it, as old Pat O’Mara used to say,” observed Roger, whose spirits refused to remain cast down for any length of time.
“And we’ve not had the good luck to get close to any game to fire a single shot,” Dick complained.
“But they told us in the village that we’d be almost sure to get a chance at some sort of wild animal at the lick; for they come there right along. I’m hoping that it’ll be antelope. I’ve never forgotten how fine that meat tasted to us; and nothing would please me so much as to have more of the same kind.”
Roger licked his lips as he said this, as though the very mention of that feast made his mouth water.
“One thing, sure,” Dick went on, “the summer has gone, and autumn is coming along now. You can feel the tang of it in the early morning air. Why, before long we’ll be having frost, if this keeps on.”
“Just think how many weeks it has been since we left home,” said Roger, as if at times hardly able to believe the fact himself.
“And what a long distance lies between us and those dear ones,” added Dick; “but, if things go well, we can soon be starting back down the river again.”
“There, look, Dick, the Wolf is making gestures again! He wants to tell you something, I believe. And I hope it is that we’re getting close to the lick at last.”