90 WILD SPORTS IN THE FAR WEST. 



longer in bed for ravenous hunger, and that lie must 

 have something to eat, even if it were a piece of raw 

 meat. I laughed, and told him to draw his hunger- 

 belt tighter, but he jumped up and gave me no more 

 rest. We made up the fire, which was nearly burnt 

 out, and then held a council as to what we should 

 cook. We had shot nothing, the bread was all gone, 

 and we had eaten our last bit of pork for dinner. 

 What was to be done? Turoski decided the point. 

 The Indian corn of last harvest was in a small building 

 in a field by the river ; I was to go and fetch an arm- 

 ful, while he would prepare something in the mean 

 time. The night was dark as pitch ; I was often 

 obliged to feel with my feet for the path like a blind 

 man, that I might not lose myself in the forest. 

 When, in the course of half an hour, I returned with 

 the maize, Turoski had killed one of the fowls that 

 were roosting on a low tree, plunged it in hot Avater, 

 and while he cleaned it I fried the corn; then, while 

 the fowl was being grilled, I ground the corn in the 

 coffee-mill, which by no means reduced it to the con- 

 sistence of flour. I moistened the grist with water, 

 added a little salt, made a cake of it about three- 

 quarters of an inch thick, and set it in a saucepan cover 

 to bake. So far so good ; but I wanted a couple of 

 eggs. There was a kind of shed attached to the house, 

 in which leaves of Indian corn, jilucked green, and 

 then dried, were kept as fodder, and here the hens 

 came to lay their eggs. Turoski crept in, and feeling 

 about, soon came to a nest with five, of which he 

 brought away only two, having broken the others in 

 his hurry. Coffee was then made, and we had a very 



