MARTIN RATTLER. 67

said it looked sociable-like, and the smoke would keep
off the flies. The operation, however, was by no
means easy. Everything had been soaked by the rain
of the previous night, and a bit of dry grass could
scarcely be found. At length he procured a little,
and by rubbing it in. the damp gunpowder which he
had extracted from his pistol, and drying it in the sun,
he formed a sort of tinder that caught fire after much
persevering effort.

Some of the fruits they found to be good, others
bad. The good they ate, the bad they threw away.
After their frugal fare they felt much refreshed, and
then began to talk of what they should do.

“We can’t live here with parrots and monkeys,
you know,” said Martin; “we must try to find a
village or town of some sort, or get to the coast, and
then we shall perhaps meet with a ship.”

“True, lad,” replied Barney, knitting his brows
and looking extremely sagacious; “the fact is, since
neither of us knows nothing about anything, or the
way to any place, my advice is to walk straight
for’ard till we come to something.” -

“So think I,” replied Martin; “therefore the sooner
we set off the better.”

Having no luggage to pack and no arrangements of

any kind to make, the two friends rose from their