“Thank the Lord, that I have a good start,” he mused, his heart stirred with deep gratitude at the remarkable manner in which he had eluded the Apaches.

With the knowledge that for the nonce he was clear of his enemies, several other facts impressed themselves upon his mind—­facts which were both important and unpleasant.  In the first place, he had not eaten a mouthful of food since morning, and he was hungry.  He had swallowed enough water to stave off the more uncomfortable sensation of thirst, but water is not worth much to appease the hunger.  He felt the need of food very sorely.

In the next place, he could think of no immediate means of getting anything to eat.  He had no gun or pistol—­nothing more than his simple jack-knife.  The prospect of procuring anything substantial with that was not flattering enough to make him feel hopeful.

And again, now that he had freed himself of captivity, how was he to make his way back to New Boston, where friends were awaiting him, with little hope of his return?  He had traversed many miles since the preceding night, and had gone through a country that was totally unknown to him.  To attempt to retrace his footsteps without the aid of a horse was like attempting that which was impossible.

While in the act of fleeing, he thought not of these.  He was unconscious of hunger, and forgot that he was so many miles from home; but now both conditions were forced upon him with anything but a pleasant vividness.  But all of Fred’s ingenuity was unequal to the task of suggesting a way whereby his want could be supplied.  Even had he a gun, there was not much show for anything like game in the darkness of night, and thus, under the most favorable circumstances, he would be forced to wait until morning.

“I’m pretty tired,” he said, as he thought over the matter, “and, maybe, if I get asleep, I can keep it up until morning, and in that way worry through the night.  But I tell you, Fred Munson, I would like to have a good square meal just now.  There is fruit growing here and there among those mountains, but a chap can’t find it at night.  Now, if there was only some camp of the hunters, where I could get in and—­”

He abruptly paused, as his own words suggested an idea.

It was a camp-fire to which he owed his escape.  Why couldn’t he use it still further?  Was it not likely that the Indians who had kindled it had taken their meals there, and that there might be some remnants of the feast which could be used to satisfy his hunger?

It was not a very pleasant prospect to contemplate.  It was like going back into the lion’s mouth; nor, indeed, could it be considered a very wise proceeding to return to the very spot from which he had escaped by such a providential interference.  But a hungry or thirsty man is not in the best mood to reason, and the incapacity is still more marked in an excessively hungry boy.