“I hate to tell you, lads,” he said, “but it must have happened during my flight. I had fired twice, and given the red hounds cause to be sorry they chased after me; and then I suddenly missed my powder horn. It must have been torn loose while I was passing through some dense bushes.”
“Did you go back and try to find it?” asked Dick, while Roger seemed mute with consternation.
“Yes, but it was no use,” replied the guide, “and I had to give it up.”
“Then we are in a bad way, without any ammunition for our guns,” Dick continued, though he did not attempt to criticize Mayhew, for he realized that, after all, it had been an accident, liable to happen to any one, and he felt sure the frontiersman must be suffering in his mind on account of it.
“I have the load in my gun, and one in my pistol,” said Mayhew. “Besides that I found a little powder wrapped in a paper in one of my pockets, enough to charge one of your guns, and some left over for priming.”
“That was lucky, at any rate; how came you to have it with you?” asked Dick.
“I remember that, some time before I left on that trip back to the Missouri and down to the outposts of civilization, I was cleaning out my powder horn, and the little it contained I placed in that paper, and then in my pocket. I forgot all about it when I filled the horn from the stores. Now, it may be, that one charge will stand between us and starvation.”
“Oh! I hope it will never get as bad as that, Mayhew,” said Dick; and yet, deep down in his heart, he knew they were facing a desperate condition, so far away from the rest of the expedition, and surrounded by perils of every type.
“Two charges in all!” summed up Roger, finding his voice. “That means that we must make each one tell. And, Dick, I want you to load your gun with that spare powder Mayhew has. You are a surer shot than I, and when we use that load it must bring returns.”
“We’ll see about that later on,” was all Dick replied.