“If we only had something to eat——” began Billy.
“Shut up!” interrupted Spud. “I’ll be chewin’ pine-needles in a few minutes.”
Billy had a sudden inspiration. Fishing the bee box from his coat pocket he extracted the piece of syrup-soaked bread with which it had been baited and eyed it critically. “There’s just half a bite apiece, and a swallow of syrup for each of us in the bottle,” said he. “Shall we have it now or wait till morning?”
“I wouldn’t trust you with it till mornin’. We’ll have it now,” grunted Spud.
The night had settled down still, and with a chill in the air that made the warmth of the fire very welcome. Beyond the zone of the firelight a wall of blackness hemmed them in. Now that camp had been made and there was nothing to do but wait for daylight the loneliness of their situation weighed upon their spirits. They drew closer together on an old log which they had drawn before the fire for a seat. Suddenly Billy raised a warning hand.
“What is it?” whispered Spud, edging a bit nearer.
“I thought I heard a shot,” replied Billy.
With straining ears the boys sat and waited what seemed an interminable length of time before they caught the faint sound of three shots fired in quick succession. Spud sprang to his feet.
“They’re lookin’ for us, Billy. Let’s give ’em a yell,” he cried.
First one, then the other, then both together they yelled at the top of their lungs until their throats were strained and raw. Then they realized the futility of wasting breath in this way.