The next morning the condition of the tempers of the crew of the
Rattletrap was reversed. Jack was feeling better and was quite
amiable, and inclined to regret his bloodthirsty language of the
night before. But Ollie and I, on our diet of gooseberries, had not
prospered, and woke up as cross as Old Blacky. The first thing I
did was to seize the empty gooseberry can and hit the side of the
wagon a half-dozen resounding blows.
"Get up there," I cried, "and 'tend to breakfast! No
pretending you're sick this morning."
"All right!" came Jack's voice, cheerfully. "Certainly. No
need of your getting excited, though. You see, I really wasn't
hungry last night, or I'd have got supper."
"But we were hungry!" answered Ollie. "I don't think I was
ever much hungrier in my life; and then to get nothing but a pint
of gooseberries! I could eat my hat this morning!"
"I'm sorry," said Jack, coming out; "but I can't cook unless
I'm hungry myself. The hunger of others does not inspire me. I
gave you all there was. Your hunger ought to have inspired you to
do something with those gooseberries."
"I'd like to know what sort of a meal you'd have got up with
a can of gooseberries?"
"Why, my dear young nephew," exclaimed Jack, "if I'd been
awakened to action I'd have fricasseed those gooseberries, built
them up into a gastronomical poem; and made a meal of them fit
for a king. A great cook like I am is an artist as much as a
great poet. He--"
"Oh, bother!" I interrupted; "the gooseberries are gone.
There's the grouse Ollie shot yesterday. Do something with that
for breakfast."
Jack disappeared in the wagon, and began to throw grouse
feathers out the front end with a great flourish. The poor horses
were much dejected, and stood with their heads down. They had
eaten but little of the hay. Water was what they wanted.
"We must hitch up and go on without waiting for breakfast," I
said to Ollie. "It can't be far to water now, and they must have
some. Jack can be cooking the grouse in the wagon."
So we were soon under way, keeping a sharp lookout, for any
signs of a house or stream of water. We had gone five or six
miles, and were descending into a little valley, when there came
a loud whinny from Old Blacky. Sure enough, at the foot of the
hill was a stream of water. The pony ran toward it on a gallop,
and as soon as we could unhitch the others they joined her. They
all waded in, and drank till we feared they would never be able
to wade out again. Then they stood taking little sips, and
letting their lips rest just on the surface and blinking
dreamily. We knew that they stood almost as much in need of food
as of water, as they had had nothing but the hay since the noon
before. There was a field of corn half a mile away, on a
side-hill, but no house in sight.
"I'm going after some of that corn," I said to the others.
"If I can't find the owner to buy it, then I'll help myself."
I mounted the pony and rode away. There was still no house in
sight at the field, and I filled a sack and returned. The horses
went at their breakfast eagerly. But twice during the meal they
stopped and plunged in the brook and took other long drinks; and
at the end Old Blacky lay down in a shallow place and rolled, and
came out looking like a drowned rat.
In the meantime Jack had got the grouse ready, and we ate it
about as ravenously as the horses did their corn. We had just
finished, and were talking about going, when a tall man on a
small horse almost covered with saddle rode up, and began to talk
cheerfully on various topics. After a while he said:
[Illustration: The Careful Corn Owner]
"Well, boys, was that good corn?"
We all suspected the truth instantly.
"He did it!" exclaimed Jack, pointing at me. "He did it all
alone. We're going to give him up to the authorities at the next
town."