Part 3 (1/2)

”Fine as salmon. This is only a small one, but--”

”Fifteen pounds, if an ounce!” cried Blake, and he thrust his hand in his pocket. There was a moment's silence, and Winthrope, glancing up, saw the other staring in blank dismay.

”What's up!” he asked.

”Lost my knife.”

”When?--in the pool? If we felt about--”

”No; aboard s.h.i.+p, or in the surf--”

”Here is my knife.”

”Yes; almost big enough to whittle a match! Mine would have done us some good.”

”It is the best steel.”

”All right; let's see you cut up the fish.”

”But you know, Blake, I shouldn't know how to go about it. I never did such a thing.”

”And you, Miss Jenny? Girls are supposed to know about cooking.”

”I never cooked anything in all my life, Mr. Blake, and it's alive,--and--and I am very thirsty, Mr. Blake!”

”Lord!” commented Blake. ”Give me that knife.”

Though the blade was so small, the American's hand was strong. After some little haggling, the coryphene was killed and dressed. Blake washed both it and his hands in the pool, and began to cut slices of flesh from the fish's tail.

”We have no fire,” Winthrope reminded him, flus.h.i.+ng at the word.

”That's true,” a.s.sented Blake, in a cheerful tone, and he offered Winthrope two of the pieces of raw flesh. ”Here's your breakfast. The trimmed piece is for Miss Leslie.”

”But it's raw! Really, I could not think of eating raw fish. Could you, Miss Leslie?”

Miss Leslie shuddered. ”Oh, no!--and I'm so thirsty I could not eat anything.”

”You bet you can!” replied Blake. ”Both of you take that fish, and go to chewing. It's the stuff to ease your thirst while we look for water.

Good Lord!--in a week you'll be glad to eat raw snake. Finnicky over clean fish, when you swallow canvas-back all but raw, and beef running blood, and raw oysters with their stomachs full of disintegrated animal matter, to put it politely! You couldn't tell rattlesnake broth from chicken, and dog makes first-rate veal--when you've got to eat it. I've had it straight from them that know, that over in France they eat snails and fish-worms. It's all a matter of custom or the style.”

”To be sure, the j.a.panese eat raw fish,” admitted Winthrope.

”Yes; and you'd swallow your share of it if you had an invite to a swell dinner in Tokio. Go on now, both of you. It's no joke, I tell you. You've got to eat, if you expect to get to water before night.

Understand? See that headland south? Well, it's a hundred to one we'll not find water short of there, and if we make it by night, we'll be doing better than I figure from the look of these bogs. Now go to chewing. That's it! That's fine, Miss Jenny!”

Miss Leslie had forced herself to take a nibble of the raw fish. The flavor proved less repulsive than she had expected, and its moisture was so grateful to her parched mouth that she began to eat with eagerness.

Not to be outdone, Winthrope promptly followed her lead. Blake had already cut himself a second slice. After he had cut more for his companions, he began to look them over with a closeness that proved embarra.s.sing to Miss Leslie.

”Here's more of the good stuff,” he said. ”While you're chewing it, we'll sort of take stock. Everybody sh.e.l.l out everything. Here's my outfit--three s.h.i.+llings, half a dozen poker chips, and not another blessed-- Say, what's become of that whiskey flask? Have you seen my flask?”