Robert hoped for a fair morning.  Surely Areskoui would relent now!  But the sun that crept languidly up the horizon was invisible to them, hidden by a dark curtain of clouds that might shed, at any moment, torrents of rain or hail or snow.  The whole earth swam in chilly damp.  Banks of cold fog filled the valleys and gorges, and shreds and patches of it floated along the peaks and ridges.  The double fires had dried his clothing and had sent warmth into his veins, increasing his vitality somewhat, but it was far below normal nevertheless.  He had an immense aversion to further movement.  He wanted to stay there between the coals, awaiting passively whatever fate might have for him.  Somehow, his will to make an effort and live seemed to have gone.

While weakness grew upon him and he drooped by the fire, he did not feel hunger, but it was only a passing phase.  Presently the desire for food that had gnawed at him with sharp teeth came back, and with it his wish to do, like one stirred into action by pain.  Hunger itself was a stimulus and his sinking vitality was arrested in its decline.  He looked around eagerly at the sodden scene, but it certainly held out little promise of game.  Deer and bear would avoid those steeps, and range in the valleys.  But the will to action, stimulated back to life, remained.  However comfortable it was between the fires they must not stay there to perish.

“Why don’t we go on?” he said to Willet.

“I’m glad to hear you ask that question,” replied the hunter.

“Why, Dave?”

“Because it shows that you haven’t given up.  If you’ve got the courage to leave such a warm and dry place you’ve got the courage also to make another fight for life.  And you were the first to speak, too, Robert.”

“We must go on,” said Tayoga.  “But it is best to throw slush over the fire and hide our traces.”

The task finished they took up their vague journey, going they knew not where, but knowing that they must go somewhere, their uncertain way still leading along the crests of narrow ridges, across shallow dips and through drooping forests, where the wind moaned miserably.  At intervals, it rained or snowed or hailed and once more they were wet through and through.  The recrudescence of Robert’s strength was a mere flare-up.  His vitality ebbed again, and not even the fierce gnawing hunger that refused to depart could stimulate it.  By-and-by he began to stumble, but Tayoga and Willet, who noticed it, said nothing—­they staggered at times themselves.  They toiled on for hours in silence, but, late in the afternoon, Robert turned suddenly to the Onondaga.

“Do you remember, Tayoga,” he said, “something you said to me a couple of days since, or was it a week, or maybe a month ago?  I seem to remember time very uncertainly, but you were talking about repasts, banquets, Lucullan banquets, more gorgeous banquets than old Nero had, and they say he was king of epicures.  I think you spoke of tender venison, and juicy bear steaks, and perhaps of a delicate broiled trout from one of these clear mountain streams.  Am I not right, Tayoga?  Didn’t you mention viands?  And perhaps you may still be thinking of them?”