“No cookum!”
“You bet you ‘cookum,’” I shouted, “I’m starved.”
“No cookum! No cookum!” repeated the distracted boy, mournfully.
Lewis investigated and came back with a long face.
“We did a bright thing,” he muttered.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Left all of our cooking outfit down at the village!”
“There’s two things to do, go without them or go back and get them,” I suggested.
“Can’t go without ’em,” said Lewis.
“Then there’s one thing to do,” I laughed. I was not to be filled with gloom. The prospects of a great adventure were far too joyous. Our landing was at the last settlement of the Bovianders. These half Dutch, half Negro natives speak fairly understandable English. I scouted around amongst them, found a good canoe, took three black men and set out downriver. The two paddlers were sturdy boys and, going down with the current, they fairly made that old canoe whizz.