"Well, this is hard luck," said Easton. "There's good bread and molasses almost within hailing distance and we've likely got to sit out here on the rocks all night without wood enough to keep fire, and it's going to rain pretty soon and we can't even get back to our pemmican and tent."
"Don't give up yet, boy," I encouraged. "Maybe they'll see our fire when we start it and take us off."
We filled our pipes and struck matches to light them. They were wax taper matches and made a good blaze. "Wonder what it'll be like to eat civilized grub again and sleep in a bed," said Easton meditatively, as he puffed uncomfortably at his pipe.
While he was speaking the glow of a lantern appeared from the Post house, which we could locate by its lamp-lit windows, and moved down toward the place where w
