"There was a lot of lurid talk. I say ’lurid’ because I seem to remember something about flames. Anyway, it was to be unpleasant, and I suppose if you hadn’t come, Phil, at the right time, I shouldn’t ever have had the great sleep that I’ve enjoyed so much, at least not that particular kind of sleep. Phil, it looks to me as if you came when I called, and I’m not joking, either." "We’ll put that aside," said Phil, "and hunt something to eat." "Yes, it’s our first duty to provision this army of two," said Bill Breakstone, "and I think we can do it. The woods are full of game, but we’ll have to wait till morning for a shot. As for the Indians hearing the reports of our rifles, we must take the chance of that, but I don’t think they’ll roam very far from the village, and we’ll spend the rest of the night going toward the point where we left the wagon train, which is directly away from the Comanches. Toward morning we’ll sit down by the bank of a stream if we can find one, and wait for the game to come to drink." "That seems to me to be our best plan," said Phil. Both had a good idea of direction, and, despite the darkness, they advanced in a fairly straight line toward the point they sought. But they found it rough traveling through the thick undergrowth, among briers and across ravines and gulleys. Meanwhile, old King Hunger, bristling and fearsome, seized them and rent them with his fangs. There was no resisting. They must even suffer and stand it as best they could. "I think it’s at least a thousand hours until day," said Bill Breakstone at last. "Do you know, Phil, I’ve got to the point where I’d enjoy one of those stage banquets that I’ve often had. You don’t really eat anything. The plates are empty, the glasses are empty, and, empty as they all are, they’re generally whisked away before you can get a good long look at them. But there’s something soothing and filling about them anyway. Maybe it’s an illusion, but if an illusion is of the right kind, it’s just the right kind of thing that you ought to have." "An illusion may be all right for you, Bill," returned Phil, "but what about some of those dinners you can get in New Orleans. Oyster soup, Bill; fish fresh from the gulf, Bill; nice old Virginia ham, Bill; stuffed Louisiana: turkey, Bill; a haunch of venison, Bill; fried chicken, Bill; lamb chops, Bill; and a lot of other things that money can buy in New Orleans, Bill?" "If you weren’t my best friend, Phil, and if you hadn’t just saved my life, I might make an attack upon you with the intent of bodily harm. You surely make me sour with your talk about the whole provision train that can be bought in New Orleans with money. Hear that old owl hooting! He’s just laughing at us. I’d stop and shoot him if we had light enough for a shot." "Never mind the owl, Bill," said Phil. "Perhaps when we get that good juicy deer we’re looking for we can hoot back at him, if we feel like it."