CHAPTER VIII
The Pangs of Hunger
BY this time, the castaways were on the brink of starvation. They hadfeasted all the first day, and, with the prospect of more provisionscoming, had eaten all they could hold on the second; that was no smallamount, for the fresh air had quickened all their appetites. On thethird they ate about all there was left for breakfast.
"We might as well," said Mrs. Crane, "for the boat or the wagon willsurely be here by noon, or, at worst, by night."
But, thanks to unreliable Dave, the castaways' calculations were allwrong. Not a crumb arrived that day. For their noon meal, they dranksome very weak cocoa, some broken crackers, and some crusts that Mabelhad left at breakfast time. Mabel always left her crusts; though nowthat she had nothing else to eat, they tasted, as Mabel said, almost asgood as cake.
"This won't do," said Mr. Black, putting his share of the fragments onBettie's wooden plate. "I'm going to rob that Indian's wigwam and we'llhave a real meal just as soon as we can cook it."
"If we were toads," offered Mabel, disconsolately eying her emptyplate, "we could eat toadstools. I saw a lot of awfully queer onesalong the road that leads to Barclay's Point."
"Toadstools?" questioned Mr. Black, pausing in his flight. "What werethey like?"
"Very pointed at the top," returned Mabel. "Some of them were shapedjust like big, smooth eggs and some were spread out flat like aparasol."
"What color were they?"
"Gray--sort of silvery. One of the big ones was all wet on the edgeswith shoeblacking--all drippy."
"Inky mushrooms!" exclaimed Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane, in one breath.
"Sarah," continued Mr. Black, "you go with Mabel and look at those'toadstools' while I burglarize Dave's wigwam. Then we'll have a mealeven if it doesn't happen to be mealtime."
"I guess," mourned Bettie, "we fed too many scraps to the squirrels."
The toadstools proved to be a very fine variety of "inky" mushrooms(long afterwards Jean learned that the proper name for this mushroomwas _coprinus atramentarius_). They grew in generous clusters and itwas great fun to gather the queer, slippery objects and pack themcarefully in Mrs. Crane's basket, which was soon filled. Mr. Blackreturned with a number of potatoes, a saucepan, part of the Indian'svenison, some salt, and a little flour.
"That," explained Mr. Black, "is to thicken the gravy. Here, Jean, handme that frying-pan for my venison cutlets. Marjory, you may run to thebeach with these potatoes and wash them. Take this saucepan with youand scour that, too--use sand. I'll build a good fire and get a pail ofwater. Here come the mushroom gatherers. What luck, Sarah? Phew! You_have_ made a haul!"
"Are they really good to eat?" queried Bettie, distrustfully.
"One of the very best kinds that grow."
"And you're sure that these are that kind?"
"Perfectly sure. Sarah and I used to gather them when we were children,didn't we, Sarah? I'm glad there's a tiny corner of butter left to frythem in."
By the middle of the afternoon, this curiously acquired meal was ready;and, although the potatoes were plain boiled with their jackets onand the gravy was pretty lumpy, it all tasted very good indeed to thehungry castaways.
"I guess," said Mabel, taking most of the credit for the mushrooms toherself, "that I just about saved your lives."
"Or poisoned us," remarked Marjory, who wasn't quite sure that sheliked mushrooms. "I'm glad, anyway, that we've enough meat and potatoesand gravy left for another meal."
"That venison," said Mr. Black, beaming at his satisfied family, "wascertainly good."
"Mr. Black," queried Henrietta, her black eyes twinkling saucily,"didn't I hear you say that you were going to have Dave arrested forgetting game out of season? What happens to people that _eat_ it out ofseason?"
"They get arrested, imprisoned, and fined," said Mr. Black, "providedthe game warden catches them. I'm glad you asked that question,Henrietta. Girls, you are not to mention this venison in town or toany chance visitor that may come this way. And don't point out thatwigwam to any stranger--there are too many evidences of Dave's crimesabout the place. Besides, they're on my property--they _might_ hold meresponsible."
"Particularly if they caught you with the bones on your plate,"remarked Mrs. Crane, dryly. "And, in any case, you stole that venison."
"Dave owes me a lot more than this for rent," returned Mr. Black. "Butwe won't have to break any game laws if Saunders sends the fishingtackle I ordered. There are three good meals a day swimming about inour own river."
"What," asked Bettie, "is that net for--the one that Dave left on thebeach? Why can't you fish with that?"
"By Jove!" exclaimed Mr. Black, "that _is_ fishing tackle. But that'sagainst the law, too. It's to stretch across the river for trout; butthat form of sport isn't permitted. Still----"
"Peter, you _wouldn't_!" protested Mrs. Crane.
"Sarah, I _would_--if it were necessary to keep us from hunger. But ifI ever do--girls, _whatever_ I do, you must remember about that gamewarden."
"We will," promised Henrietta.
"We will," chorused the others.
And when the time came, they did; but you shall hear about that afterawhile.
The castaways were up bright and early the next morning. For onething the mosquitoes troubled them; hitherto the light breeze blowingacross their camp ground had kept these pests away; but the night hadbeen unusually still and the tantalizing insects had discovered thesleeping campers. For another thing, everybody wanted to be up and asmuch dressed as possible when the boat or the wagon should come. Thisuncertainty as to whether relief would arrive by land or approach bywater added very considerably to the excitement. It wasn't possiblefor the girls to do much of anything except to run by turns to thespot whence one could look down the road and to that other spot fromwhich one could view the lake. Unfortunately there was no one spot thatcommanded both these avenues of approach.
Just at noon, a shrill screech from Marjory, prancing precariously onthe edge of the bank, announced that relief was in sight.
"A ship--a ship!" shrieked keen-sighted Marjory.
"Where away?" demanded Mr. Black.
"There she blows!" quoted Marjory, employing the only other nauticalterm she could call to mind and pointing with an extended forefinger.
"That's not a whale--that's a boat," scoffed Henrietta, who hadtraveled. "It's whales that blow."
"I don't care," returned Marjory. "And boats do too, when they havewhistles. Anyhow, I saw it first---- Look out, Mabel!"
But the frail edge of the bank had already crumbled under weightyMabel, who, unexpectedly, shot downward to the beach. No harm was done,however, for the sand was clean and soft.
"Mabel," laughed Mr. Black, "you'll have my whole hundred-and-twentyacres in the lake if you don't stop tumbling off the edge of myproperty. This isn't the first time you've taken a large slice off thelandscape."
"It's about the ninth," admitted Mabel, scrambling back to the grassytop. "I'm always forgetting how easily it breaks away."
"That's because it sticks out a little over the top," explained sageJean. "In very stormy weather the waves wash against the bank and scoopit out."
"I suppose that _is_ our boat," said Mr. Black, rubbing his chin, "andI hope my razor's on it--I must look like a pirate by this time, or atramp."
Coatless Mr. Black, without his daily shave and with his brokensuspenders mended with odd bits of twine, certainly did look ratherunlike his usually neat self.
"That boat isn't coming very fast," complained Marjory.
"It's a very clear day," explained Mrs. Crane, "so you can see a longdistance. That boat is probably several miles away."
In spite of their impatience, the boat remained several miles away fora long, long time.
"If that _is_ a boat," said Mr. Black, "it's the very slowest one onLake Superior."
"Perhaps," suggested Jean, "it's going the other way."
But the boat was neither going nor coming. The engi
ne had balked; andCaptain Berry, for it really _was_ Captain Berry, was waiting, as hehad often waited before, for his defective electrical apparatus to getgood and ready to work.