"'Tis a wonderful bad fix," David admitted.

"I'm growin'--wonderful weak--in th' knees," Andy confessed.

"I feels a weakness, too," said David, "but not so much hunger as yesterday."

"'Tis queer, now, but I'm not feelin' th' hunger so bad, either. But I feels sleepy and weak," Andy agreed. "I wonders, now, why 'tis? I were thinkin' we'd grow hungrier and hungrier, till we couldn't stand un."

"'Tis strange," admitted David, "not bein' so hungry. But I feels like I could eat anything that could be et, and I'm sleepy, too."

That is the way with folk who starve. While there's a bit of food to be had the appet.i.te remains keen, and troublesome, but when the food is gone, a day or two of fastin' finds the appet.i.te waning, and the eyes growing heavy and drowsy, and over the body steals la.s.situde and weariness.

David and Andy were prisoners, but it was not their nature to give up and resign themselves to their fate until every expedient had been tried. Thomas had said there was a way out of every fix. This was a bad fix--the worst they had ever been in, they were sure, but if there was a way out of it they must try to discover the way.

"There _must_ be a way, now, Davy!" Andy declared, after a long discussion. "Pop says there's _no_ fix so bad we can't get out of un if we only thinks out how."

"If we had any lashin'," suggested David, "we might fix up somethin'

that would do for snowshoes. But there's no deerskin, and there's nothin' else, I'm thinkin', would do."

"There's th' rope on th' flatsled," said Andy hopefully.

"That wouldn't make th' net for one snowshoe," objected David.

"Let's get some sticks and bend un into snowshoe frames, and maybe we'll think o' some way t' net un," suggested Andy. "'Twill be _tryin'_, whatever!"

"Aye," agreed David, "'twill be doin' somethin', but I'm seein' no way t' make th' nettin'."

And so, though it seemed futile enough so far as solving their problem was concerned, they cut the necessary sticks close by the tilt door, and set about their task. With an Indian crooked knife David squared and trimmed the sticks into shape, and, steaming them over the kettle, rendered them pliable. Then they bent and tied them.

All that afternoon and next forenoon they worked unceasingly at their task, and at length the frames of two pairs of bear's paw snowshoes, each snowshoe with one crossbar to stiffen it, were ready for netting.

But think as they would, that seemed the end. There were no deerskin thongs, and not even rope with which to improvise the netting. The boys were steadily growing weaker, and they had almost decided that after all they were in a "fix" from which there was no possible escape, when Andy made a suggestion that revived their hope.

XXIV

UNCLE BEN APPEARS

"Davy, I've got un! I've got un!" Andy suddenly shouted, seizing his sleeping bag with a display of frenzied joy.

"Got what?" asked David anxiously.

"Th' sleepin' bags! Th' sleepin' bags!" said Andy excitedly. "Don't you see, Davy?"

"Aye, that's a sleepin' bag, I sees," admitted David, quite startled by Andy's unusual behavior, and certain enough the lad had gone stark mad, as sometimes happens with starving people.

"And we never thought of un!" explained Andy. "We never thought of un, and they right before our eyes all th' time! We can cut un into strips and net th' snowshoes with un!"

"Why didn't we ever think o' that, now!" exclaimed David, springing up and seizing his sleeping bag, now no less excited than was Andy himself.

It is the obvious that most of us overlook. The simple things that are before us are the things we never see. There, to be sure, were the sleeping bags. Cut into strips, the sealskins of which they were made would serve very well indeed for netting the snowshoes.

"A skin or two out of one of un'll be plenty," said David, opening his jackknife and proceeding at once to cut the sinew with which the bag was sewn. "One skin out'n my bag'll be enough, Andy, don't cut yours.

You're wonderful at thinkin' up things, Andy. I never would have thought of un!"

"I just happened t' think of un first," said Andy, unwilling to take to himself all the credit.

Presently one of the sealskins was freed from the bag, and while Andy held it, David, working carefully with his jackknife, cutting around the edge in a spiral, soon reduced it into a single long string.

"Now we'll have to soak un to make un soft," said David, dropping the lashing into a kettle of water. "'Twon't take long."

Weaving the web upon the frames demanded patience, but late that night the snowshoes were finished, and though they were crude and roughly made, they were strong and serviceable enough for the purpose for which they were required.

"Pop always says right," remarked Andy, when they hung the four snowshoes on the tilt wall to dry, and stood for a moment surveying their handiwork. "There is always a way out o' the worst fix ever happened, if we only finds out what 'tis."

"Aye," agreed David, "out of _any_ fix!"

"They'll save our lives," said Andy. "I--I feels almost like cryin', Davy."

"Th' Lard put un into your head t' try th' sealskin, Andy," David spoke reverently. "Th' Lard always seems t' be watchin' and helpin'

us, whatever happens, and we does what we can t' help ourselves."

"Aye," said Andy, "He does that."

And all in all the boys were right. He never does much for those who simply pray to Him, and then sit idly with folded hands and expect Him to do the rest. He gave us eyes to see and hands to work and planted in us the power to reason, and He filled the earth with all things necessary for the support of life. He expects us to do our best at all times--to use our brains, and hands and eyes and all our faculties--and then if we have faith He helps us to success, and our success in big things and little things alike depends upon how far we do our best.

It was scarce daybreak when, weak from their long fast, but happy in the a.s.surance that their imprisonment was at an end and that safety was promised them, the boys donned their new snowshoes, and set out to the Narrows tilt.

The snowshoes proved over-small, and sank deeply into the new, soft snow. This held the boys to a slow pace, with the tedious and wearisome effort it demanded, and the sun had set before they made the last turn in the river above the tilt. David was hauling the toboggan, laden with their belongings, while Andy trudged in advance, both dragging their feet with painful effort. Suddenly Andy stopped, peering at the tilt, and shouted excitedly to David:

"Look! Look, Davy! There's some one at the tilt!"

And David, looking, discovered smoke curling cheerfully up from the stovepipe.

Hurrying forward they were met at the door by a welcoming:

"Good gracious! Good gracious! And here you are! Both of you safe and sound. Dear eyes!" and a hearty handshake from Uncle Ben Rudder and Hiram Muggs.

Tears filled the eyes of both the lads as they grasped the big strong hands of their rescuers. The two men were a connecting link with The Jug and home, and with their appearance a vast load of responsibility rolled from the shoulders of David and Andy. Their lonely struggle with the wilderness was at an end.

"Where's Indian Jake? Good gracious, where's Indian Jake?" Uncle Ben exploded.

"We're starvin'. We haven't had anything to eat in days and days,"

said David, irrevelantly.

Uncle Ben and Hiram were solicitous at once. They hurried the boys into the tilt, and would not permit them to talk or explain until they had eaten a supper of boiled partridges and camp bread and tea which Hiram had already prepared for himself and Uncle Ben.