Supper of boiled ptarmigan, hardtack, marrow fat for b.u.t.ter, and tea was as good a meal as any could wish, and quite as good as any to which David and Andy were accustomed on the trail. But there was the future to be provided for.

"'Tis good Indian Jake didn't take th' grub from th' other tilts,"

Andy observed, as they made the tilt tidy, for Indian Jake had left it in a state of confusion.

"He took 'most everything else except th' tilts," said David a little bitterly. "With havin' t' keep most of th' flour and pork that's in th' other tilts to use goin' home, it'll take all our spare time huntin' a livin', and we'll have t' make out that way till we goes."

"We might catch some whitefish and namaycush," suggested Andy. "We caught a rare fine lot when we went fishin' with Indian Jake."

"We can now!" agreed David enthusiastically. "Oh, we'll make out fine with th' birds and rabbits we gets, if we can get whitefish and namaycush too. We won't have bread, but th' Injuns mostly does without bread. They make out with what they get huntin' and fishin'."

"We'll try for th' fish tomorrow _what_ever!" said Andy.

"Th' first thing in th' mornin'," seconded David.

A search, however, for Indian Jake's fishing tackle disclosed the fact that he had taken it with him, as he had taken nearly everything else of value. No cod line and not a fish hook could be found, though every nook and cranny of the tilt was inspected.

"We'll have t' give fishin' up," said David, when they had satisfied themselves that no tackle was to be found. "We can't fish without hooks and line."

"No," admitted Andy dejectedly, "we can't fish."

"But we'll make out, _what_ever," said David confidently. "We'll get birds and rabbits enough, though they're wonderful tiresome eatin', without bread or pork. And goin' out we'll be like t' kill a porcupine or two."

"We'll make out," agreed Andy.

"It's--it's th' fur makes me feel bad," said David after a moment's silence.

"Aye; th' fur," repeated Andy.

"And Jamie," added David, sadly. "I can't get he off my mind. I'd rather be dead myself than have he go blind. 'Tis bein' dead t' go blind, but worse. 'Tisn't natural t' be blind, and folks has t' die some time."

"Th' thought of un makes me feel almost--sick," said Andy.

They fell silent, and for nearly half an hour neither spoke. Then David remarked, a more cheerful note in his voice:

"I been thinkin', now, that we may be misjudgin' Indian Jake. I been thinkin' that maybe when Indian Jake makes up his mind we perished, he has no heart t' keep on trappin' here alone, and he takes th' furs and starts right out with un t' give un t' Pop, and t' tell Pop what he thinks happened to us."

"Do you think that, now?" asked Andy hopefully.

"That's what I thinks," said David, reluctant to abandon faith in Indian Jake even now.

"'Twill be--a terrible worry for Pop--and all of un," suggested Andy.

"Aye," agreed David, "but think how glad they'll be when we comes home safe; and it won't be long, now. Week after next we'll strike up, and th' break-up'll come by th' last of May, _what_ever, and we'll start for home."

"Suppose, now--suppose Indian Jake does as Uncle Ben said he would,"

Andy suggested apprehensively. "Suppose he don't take th' furs t' Pop, but goes off with un, th' way he did before?"

"I'm--I'm thinkin' he won't do _that_," solaced David, though his voice was not as convincing as Andy would have wished.

"Maybe--there's nothin' t' worry over," agreed Andy.

"That makes me think o' Doctor Joe's song," said David. "Let's sing un, Andy. She's a wonderful cheerin' song."

"Let's do," said Andy, and together they sang, loud and l.u.s.tily:

"Old Worry's my foe, and he always brings woe, And he follows about wherever I go.

He's always on hand, and he makes the world blue, And all about troubles that never come true."

After all, what do any of us gain from worry, though all of us have reason enough for it sometimes. David and Andy resolved to believe that Indian Jake had really gone to The Jug. They were the better and more efficient for believing it. And they resolved to smile and be cheerful, too, and not fret and worry and stew about troubles that might not be troubles at all. But it required grit a-plenty, for often enough a suspicion of Indian Jake forced itself upon them.

On Sat.u.r.day morning the boys devoted themselves to setting snares for rabbits. A dozen short pieces of stout twine found about the cabin were utilized for this purpose.

Building a snare is a simple process. A sapling is cut and laid across a rabbit run, and about a foot above it. One end of a piece of twine is tied to the sapling directly over the run, while the other end is formed into a noose, and with the bottom of the noose resting on the run, the top reaching to the sapling, it is held in position by upright sticks on each side. Brush is piled so high upon the sapling as to discourage pa.s.sing rabbits from jumping over. Other brush filled in around both sides of the runway, prevents its going around, and it is thus forced to make a wide detour, which rabbits are not likely to do, or to pa.s.s through the noose. In the latter case it can scarcely escape being caught and choked by the noose.

It was interesting work for the boys. It occupied their attention and kept their thoughts free from surmises as to Indian Jake.

"They'll get us some grub, _what_ever," remarked David when the last snare was set. "I wish we could have fished, though. 'Twould have been surer, and rabbits gets t' be such tiresome eatin'."

"But they're better than no eatin'," Andy sagely observed.

"If we gets rabbits enough I'll not be complainin'," said David.

On Sunday morning two rabbits were found in the snares, and one more on Monday morning before the boys set out upon their journey to Lake Namaycush. David attended to the traps, while Andy devoted his attention to hunting, and on Tuesday evening when they reached the Lake Namaycush tilt he had added five spruce partridges, two ptarmigans and a porcupine to their store of provisions in excess of their daily requirements.

"You're doin' wonderful well, Andy," David complimented, as he prepared supper. "You're knockin' over more birds than we can eat."

"I'm thinkin' we are, now," agreed Andy with some pride. "We'll not be goin' hungry, _what_ever."

"I got one marten to-day," continued David. "He's a poor one. Th' fur is all like t' be poor now, I'm thinkin', so we may as well strike up.

'Tis a pity t' kill th' fur when it's too poor t' sell. If we leaves un now we'll get un next year when they're prime. What we gets now won't help out any for Jamie, either."

"Will we strike up before we goes back?" asked Andy.

"We'll have t' come in next week, _what_ever," David explained. "We didn't strike up on th' way in. I'll strike up on th' big mesh tomorrow, and we'll take everything down t' th' Narrows tilt that we'll want t' take down from here and th' Halfway tilt. Next week finish strikin' up, and take care o' th' traps, and our flat sled'll be heavy enough."

Accordingly the following day David struck up, and cached in convenient places the traps on the big marsh trail, and on the return to the Narrows the small remaining stock of flour and pork and tea was taken from the other two tilts to the Narrows tilt, to await the day of their departure for The Jug, and to be kept as a reserve in case of need.

Andy's gun and the snares continued to keep them well supplied so far as their immediate needs were concerned, though they sorely missed the bread and pork to which they were accustomed, and which even in this brief time they learned to look upon as luxuries. However, adhering to their resolution to deny themselves, they set out upon their final journey to Lake Namaycush with no other provisions than rabbits and partridges, and a small amount of tea.

"I'm glad t' be gettin' ready t' go home," remarked Andy as they sat at supper on the evening they reached the Namaycush Lake tilt. "But it gives me a wonderful sorry feelin' that th' trappin' is all over, and when we leaves here tomorrow we won't come back again t' Namaycush Lake this year."

"That's th' way I feels, too," admitted David. "I've been feelin' that way all th' time I've been strikin' up. I've been thinkin' how much we were expectin' from th' traps when we comes in th' fall, and how we worked for a good hunt; and how--it's all over with now."

"And--not knowin' for sure what Indian Jake does with th' fur,"

suggested Andy.

"If we only could be sure he took un t' Pop," said David, "and Jamie could go t' th' great doctor t' have his eyes cured--then I'd feel wonderful happy."