THE BELT BEARERS Paul and Jim Hart waited several days, never once venturing from the protecting shadows of the woods, and they found the burden very great.

The little island was like a cage, and Jim Hart groaned, moreover, because he could not exercise his skill in the art of cooking.
"These cold victuals," he said, "besides bein' unpleasant to the inside, are a disgrace to me.

I jest got to cook somethin'." Finally, he built up a bed of coals on a very dark night, when it was impossible for anyone to see either their sheltered glow or the smoke they sent out, and he broiled juicy steaks from the body of a deer that they had hung up in a tree.
"Isn't it fine, Paul ?" he said, as they ate hungrily.
"Fine's no name for it," replied Paul.

"It's great, splendid, grand, magnificent, surpassing, unapproachable! Are those the terms, Jim ?" "I don't know jest what all uv 'em mean," replied Jim Hart, "but they shorely sound right to me." They saw the Indian canoes on the lake once more, but the Miamis seemed to be fishing, and did not come anywhere near the island.

Paul appreciated then how great had been their continual need of caution.
A day or two later there was a magnificent thunder storm, despite the lateness of the season.