"Now," he said hoarsely, "it's up to you to do the rest."

Grenfell set about it in wolfish haste, hacking off great strips of
flesh with patches of hide still attached to them; and it was only
when he flung them half-raw out of the frying-pan that Weston roused
himself. Fresh bush venison is not a delicacy even when properly
cooked, and there are probably very few civilized men who would care
to consume much of it. The muscular fiber resembles cordage; and
strong green tea is no doubt not the most desirable beverage to
accompany it; but Grenfell and Weston ate it in lumps and were asleep
within five minutes after they lay down gorged to repletion beside the
sinking fire. It is generally understood that a famishing person
should be supplied with nourishment sparingly, but in the wilderness
the man in that condition eats as much as he conveniently can, and
usually sleeps for about twelve hours afterward. In any case, the sun
was high the next day when Weston awoke, feeling, except for his
muscular weariness, as fresh as he had ever felt in his life. He
roused Grenfell with his foot.

"Get up," he said, "we have to consider what to do."

Grenfell blinked at him, with a grin.

"Consider!" he ejaculated. "I know. The first thing is to eat
breakfast. Then we'll lie down again until it's time for supper."

They did as he suggested, for there was meat enough to last until they
found the cache. This they managed to do two days later. Somewhat to
Weston's astonishment they found, also, the horse still feeding on the
strip of natural prairie; and, as the beast and the buried camp gear
it could now carry back represented their whole worldly wealth, this
was a source of gratification to both of them. The man without an
occupation or a dollar in his pocket does not, as a rule, find life
very easy.

They made the first settlement on the railroad safely; and Weston,
hearing that a new sawmill had been started in a neighboring valley,
set out the next morning in search of it, leaving Grenfell to dispose,
of the camp gear and the horse. The manager of the sawmill was,
however, marking trees in the bush, and, as Weston had to wait some
time before he learned that no more hands were wanted, it was evening
before he reached the little wooden hotel where he had left his
comrade. It had a veranda in front of it, and he stopped when he
reached the steps, for it was evident from the hoarse clamor and
bursts of laughter which came out