The Wilderness Castaways Part 15

Almost immediately Dan was back with his kettle of water.

"They's a spring just up here, an' we're lucky t' have un so clost,"

he remarked, setting the kettle on the stove. "I'm thinkin' we're in for a blow, an' we'll not be gettin' away from here till she's over."

"Don't you think the ship will come tomorrow if the fog clears?" asked Paul anxiously.

"No," replied Dan discouragingly, searching for the bacon. "Let's put on a light; they's some candles left." He found the candles, lighted one, and discovered the bacon. "I'm not expectin' th' ship in th' blow that's comin'. 'Tis a dangerous coast," he continued, as he sliced the bacon, "an' th' skipper'll be takin' no chances cruisin' insh.o.r.e in a gale."

"Well, we're safe enough, and the tent is as cozy a place as I ever struck," said Paul, now thoroughly warm, and basking in the stove's genial heat, his wet clothes sending forth a cloud of steam.

"'Twill be fine so long as th' grub lasts. But they's no tellin' how long we'll be held up, an' they ain't much grub. But maybe we can kill somethin.' I'll take a look at th' country, an' th' fog clears tomorrow."

"I should think we'd find plenty of game. We've seen ducks and ptarmigans everywhere we've been. Oh," sniffing, "but that bacon smells dandy."

"Yes, I'm thinkin' we'll find ducks an' pa'tridges, but they's no knowin', an' we'll be wonderful careful o' th' grub we's got till we finds out. Dad says always be careful of what you has till you sees more comin'."

The kettle had boiled and Dan threw some tea into it and set it on the ground close to the stove, then he put half of the bacon he had fried on Paul's aluminum plate, the other half on his own plate, carefully dividing the bacon grease between them, gave Paul two ship's biscuits, took two for himself, and filled their aluminum cups with tea.

"Now we can fall to," he said. "They's plenty o' tea, but we can't be eatin' more'n this much grub to onct, an' we'll not be havin' more'n one biscuit apiece at a meal after this. I'm givin' us two now for we been a rare long time without eatin'."

"It looks like a mighty little, with my appet.i.te, but I guess you're right about it," admitted Paul.

"Hear that!"

"What?"

"Th' wind. I knew she'd be comin' up. Th' fog'll be blowin' away by midnight."

"That'll be good."

"If she don't blow too strong an' too long."

"But this bacon grease is great!" exclaimed Paul, taking a spoonful of the warm grease. "Funny I like it, though. When I'm home I can't bear to eat fat."

"Grease is fine grub for cruisin', an' when th' weather's cold. When Dad an' me goes trappin' winters we just takes fat pork an' flour an'

tea an' mola.s.ses."

"It does make a difference, I guess. I was just thinking that I'd never in my life eaten anything so good as this bacon and hardtack. If I was home I wouldn't look at them. I'll never find fault again if my meat's a little too rare or too done, or not just what I happen to like best."

"Dad says anythin's good when a feller's hungry."

It was a meager supper, indeed. A bit of bacon, two ship's biscuits and tea could hardly satisfy the appet.i.te of a boy who had eaten but once in thirty hours, and then but lightly.

"I'm hungrier than ever!" declared Paul, when he had eaten the last morsel of his portion.

"So am I. 'Tweren't much," admitted Dan, as he drew his harmonica from his pocket, wiped it on his coat sleeve, and struck up a tune.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Dan struck up a tune]

But with relaxation from the long hours of anxiety and exposure which had preceded Dan soon found himself too drowsy to play. Paul was nodding in a brave attempt to keep awake. Dan put the harmonica aside, they made their bed and were soon in heavy slumber, not to awaken until broad daylight.

The wind had risen to almost the force of a hurricane, and upon looking out of the tent they beheld the waters of Hudson Bay beaten into a wild fury. Mighty foam-crested waves were rolling in upon the rocky point below, breaking with a continuous thunderous roar. The fog had pa.s.sed, and black, broken clouds scudded the sky.

"She's wonderful mad because she didn't get us," remarked Dan.

"My! But weren't we lucky to drift in last night!" said Paul, shuddering at the scene.

"'Tweren't luck," corrected Dan. "Th' Lord were sendin' us in ahead o'

th' blow. Dad says 'tain't luck, but th' Lord, as helps folks out o'

bad places."

After an unsatisfactory breakfast of beans, Dan shouldered his rifle, cautioned Paul not to go out of sight of the tent, and started out to explore and hunt. Late in the afternoon he returned with a big gray goose and a rabbit. Paul, who was in the tent, sprang up when Dan pulled back the flap and looked in.

"Oh, but I'm glad to see you, Dan!" he exclaimed. "I never was so dead lonesome in my life!"

"'Tis a bit lonesome bidin' alone in camp," admitted Dan, "but see now what I'm gettin'," and he dropped his game at Paul's feet.

"A goose and a rabbit! Oh, Dan, what luck! Now we can have a feast, and I'm so hungry I can hardly move."

"An' I'm wonderful hungry, too, with th' long tramp. Now I'll be dressin' th' goose, an' you puts a kettle o' water on an' cuts some wood."

Paul went at his task with a vim. He wielded the light camp axe very clumsily, for he had never used an axe before; it was, in fact, his first attempt at manual labor. He had, however, a good supply of wood piled up by the time the goose was dressed and in the kettle, and he and Dan sat down to enjoy the appetizing odor of cooking fowl while they chatted.

"Do you know, Dan, we're having such a dandy time here, I'll feel almost sorry when the ship comes. This tent is so cozy," he declared.

"'Tis cozy an' fine, but I'm thinkin' we'll be wantin' t' see th' ship bad enough before we sees her."

"But she'll be along tomorrow, won't she?"

"No, nor th' next day neither. I were lookin' t' th' n'uthard from th'

rise back here, an' I sees a wonderful drift o' ice workin' up, an' if th' blow holds tomorrow, as 'tis sure to hold, there'll be a pack o'

ice up from th' n'uthard that the ship'll never be gettin' through."

"What! You don't mean the ship won't come at all?"

"I'm not sayin' that for sure, but it's how 'tis lookin' t' me now."

"Oh, but Dan, that can't be! What will we do if we're not picked up?"

"I've been thinkin' un over, an' figurin' un out. Tom were sayin'

they's tradin' posts t' th' s'uthard, an' I been figurin' we'll have t' make for un. We'll have t' hunt for our grub, but onct we gets t'

th' posts we'll be safe."

"Do you really think we'll have to do that, and stay here all winter?

It would just kill my mother, for she won't know where I am."

"I'm just sayin' what's like t' happen, but 'tain't no way sure. A bit inside I finds a river runnin' in th' head o' this bight, an' plenty o' timber. 'Twere near th' river I kills th' goose. 'Tain't such a wonderful bad country."