"No, Tom, they hevn't got us, an' now, hevin' learned from your long an' volyble conversation that it ain't tomorrer an' that we are free, 'stead o' bein' taken captive an' bein' burned at the stake by the Injuns, I'm feelin' mighty fine." "Sol, you talk real foolish at times. How could we be took by the Injuns an' be burned alive at the stake, an' not know nothin' 'bout it?" "Don't ask me, Tom. Thar are lots o' strange things that I don't pretend to understan', an' me a smart man, too. Here, you, Jim Hart! Wake up! Shake them long legs an' arms o' yours an' cook our breakfast!" Silent Tom began to laugh, not audibly, but his lips moved in such a manner that they betrayed risibility. The shiftless one looked at him suspiciously. "Tom Ross," he said, "what you laughin' at?" "You told Long Jim to cook breakfast, didn't you?" "I shorely did, an' I meant it, too." "He ain't." "Why ain't he?" "Because he ain't." "Ef he ain't, then why ain't he?" "Because thar ain't any." "Thar ain't any breakfast, you mean?" "Jest what I say. He ain't goin' to cook breakfast, 'cause thar ain't any to cook, an' thar ain't no more to say." Henry and Paul, awakening at the sound of the voices, sat up and caught the last words. "Do you mean to tell us, Tom," exclaimed Paul, "that we have nothing to eat?" "Shorely," said Silent Tom triumphantly. "Look! See!" All of them examined their packs quickly, but they had eaten the last scrap of food the day before. Silent Tom's mouth again stretched across his face with triumph and his eyes crinkled up. "Right, ain't it?" he asked exultantly. "Look here you, Tom Ross," exclaimed Shif'less Sol, indignantly, "you'd rather be right an' starve to death than be wrong an' live!" "Right, ain't I?" "Yes, right, ain't you, 'bout the food, an' wrong in everythin' else. Ef you say 'ain't' to me ag'in, Tom Ross, inside o' a week, I'll club you so hard over the head with your own gun that you won't be able to speak another word fur a year! The idee o' you laughin' an' me plum' dead with hunger! Why, I could eat a hull big buffler by myself, an' ef he wuzn't cooked I could eat him alive, an' on the hoof too, so I could!" Tom Ross continued to laugh silently with his eyes and lips. "What are we to do?" asked Paul in dismay. "If we were to find game we wouldn't dare fire at it with the Indians perhaps so near." "True," said Tom Ross. "And if we can't fire at it we certainly can't catch it with our hands." "True," said Tom Ross. "And then are we to starve to death?" "No," said Tom Ross. Paul did not ask anything more, but his questioning look was on the silent man. "Fish," said Tom Ross, showing his line and hook. "Where?" asked Shif'less Sol. "Fine, clear creek, only hundred yards away." "Do you know that it hez any fish in it?" "Saw 'em little while ago. Fine big fellers, bass." "Then be quick an' ketch a lot, 'cause the pangs o' starvation are already on me."