"I don't believe you'd care very much if they knocked you in the head, as they do an ox in the slaughterhouse."
"I wouldn't care jest now—but I would if they gave me time to think it over," came from the Yankee lad, with a touch of his former humor, brought on by the peculiar way in which his chum looked at him. "No, I ain't so disheartened as all that. But it's tough, ain't it, the luck we're having?" And he drew a mountainous sigh as he inspected one of his shoes, which had burst open at the side.
"That shoe won't last very long, Si—and neither will mine. Did you ever go barefooted?"
"Yes, when I was a little chap. But I wouldn't want to go without shoes over these rocks and stubble. Got any of that rice cake left?"
The cake to which he referred was some found in a deserted nipa hut they had passed the evening before. The hut had yielded them not only some rice cakes, but also some ripe cocoanuts and a good sharp knife. The knife was now practically their only weapon, for the pistol had been discharged in a hunt after game to eat, and there were no cartridges with which to reload it.
"I suppose a fellow in a story-book would enjoy
