The cold had become intense, and in their starving condition Charley and
Toby felt it perhaps the more keenly. With the disappointment of another
morning dawning and still no sign of the longed-for ice, Charley, after
making his declaration of discouragement and hopelessness to Toby,
became quiet and morose. He had no inclination to leave the tent and the
fire, and he spent his time sitting under the shelter and brooding over
his troubles.
Toby, no less anxious, made frequent journeys along the shore. On each
return he would endeavour to engage Charley in conversation, but without
result. Charley's replies to questions were "yes" or "no," unless a
statement was necessary, and then it was given in as few words as
possible. He appeared to have suddenly developed a grudge against Toby,
as though Toby were responsible for their unfortunate position, and at
length would not respond to Toby's efforts at conversation, or reply to
him.
This was an attitude that Toby could not in the least understand, and he
finally, when Charley in silence crawled into his sleeping bag, left the
lean-to, doubly depressed because of Charley's bearing toward him, and
set out again to reconnoiter the island.
"'Tis not me he's angry with," he soliloquized, "'tis the hunger, and
'tis gettin' the insides of his head sick, like Dad says worry will."
Toby wandered aimlessly along the shore rocks. He was weak, and walking
was becoming an effort. For two or three days he and Charley had noticed
that when they sat down their knees would unexpectedly give way to let
them down with a shock upon their seat; and when they arose, they were
compelled to stand for a moment to steady themselves lest they would
stagger. Toby's usually brisk walk was now a lounging gait, like that of
one grown old.
He had more than half circled the island, and was returning to the
lean-to, when his eye fell upon something white, perched in a spruce
tree which stood apart from the other trees. He stepped nearer, and his
heart leaped with joy. The object was a great snowy owl.
With the best haste he could make he hurried back to the lean-to.
Charley was asleep in his bag, and without arousing him Toby secured his
rifle, and returned with renewed haste and vigour to the tree.
There still sat the owl taking its daytime rest, and quite unconscious
of impending danger. With greater care than he had ever taken before,
Toby aimed, fired, and the owl came tumbling to the snow below.
As though fearful that it might still escape from him, Toby sprang upon
the dead bird like a ravenous wolf. Tears of joy came into his eyes as
he held it up and stroked its feathers, and hugged it close to his
breast. This would save his own and Charley's life, and how glad Charley
would be!
How he ran back to the lean-to! How he shouted to Charley as he
approached! How the two boys, their eyes wet with tears, stroked the
thing for a moment before plucking it! these were events that neither
ever forgot while he lived.
"The Lard sent un to us! The Good Lard sent un!" declared Toby.
"The Lord surely sent it to save us!" said Charley devoutly. "Toby, I've
been a cad. I was so selfish that I was thinking that nothing mattered
but my having to stay here, and I guess I was blaming you for it. I
don't know why, for you didn't make the storm that stranded us here.
Anyhow, I acted a cad, and I want to tell you how sorry I am."
"'Tweren't your fault," soothed Toby. "Don't think of un. 'Twere like
Dad says, you got to worryin' and worry were makin' the insides of your
head upsot."
"Your father always says not to worry, but the Lord will help us out of
any fix, if we do our best first," said Charley. "He's right. Isn't it
just great, Toby, that you saw it and shot it! I feel like yelling, I
feel so happy!"
"Just get out and yell all you wants to," grinned Toby. "We'll have one
good feed, whatever."
In remarkably short time the owl was plucked, dressed and boiling
merrily over the fire in a kettle that was becoming rusty from disuse.
"We'll be eatin' the broth first, and then the meat a bit at a time, and
often," suggested Toby. "The Indians says if they eats too much when
they first gets un after starvin' 'tis like to make un sick. Sometimes
they gets wonderful sick, too."
"Then we'll be careful," agreed Charley, "though it's mighty hard not to
pitch right in. I feel as though I could eat it all and then want more."
"So does I," grinned Toby, "and I'm not doubtin' you could eat un all,
and I knows 'twould be easy for me to eat un."
How delicious the broth tasted, unsalted and unseasoned as it was! And
when they drank it all, and temptation got the better of them and they
each ate a small portion of the meat.
"'Tis growing calmer on the water," Toby announced when he had covered
the kettle and hidden its contents from their hungry eyes. "I sees un
when I'm out and sees the owl in the tree. The water's smokin' just fine
now. Come and have a look, Charley."
"All right," said Charley reluctantly rising, though cheerfully. "If I
stay here by the kettle, I'll not be able to leave the meat alone, and
one of us mustn't have any more of it than the other."
Down on the sunny side of the island Charley all at once clutched Toby's
arm.
"What's that?" he whispered excitedly, pointing to a dark object lying
upon the rocks just above the water's edge.