we can't waste a shell on every bird or rabbit. Those shells of
yours are precious. You other fellows will have to turn fishermen
for a while. Your pistols are no good for hunting."

"The watchmen at the bank have riot guns," said Van Deventer,
"and there are one or two repeating-rifles there. I don't know
about ammunition."

"Good! I don't mean about the ammunition, but about the guns. We'll
hope for the ammunition. You fishermen get to work to improvise
tackle out of anything you can get hold of. Will you do that?"

A series of nods answered his question.

"Now for the gardeners. You people will have to roam through the
woods in company with the hunters and locate anything in the way of
edibles that grows. Do all of you know what wild plants look like?
I mean wild fruits and vegetables that are good to eat."

A few of them nodded, but the majority looked dubious. The consensus
of opinion seemed to be that they would try. Arthur seemed a little
discouraged.

"I guess you're the man to tell about the restaurant," Van Deventer
said quietly. "And as this is the food commission, or something of
that sort, everybody here will be better for hearing it. Anyway,
everybody will have to know it before night. I took over the
restaurant as you suggested, and posted some of the men from the
bank that I knew I could trust about the doors. But there was
hardly any use in doing it."

"The restaurant stocks up in the afternoon, as most of its
business is in the morning and at noon. It only carries a day's
stock of foodstuffs, and the--the cataclysm, or whatever it was,
came at three o'clock. There is practically nothing in the place.
We couldn't make sandwiches for half the women that are caught
with us, let alone the men. Everybody will go hungry to-night.
There will be no breakfast to-morrow, nor anything to eat until we
either make arrangements with the Indians for some supplies or else
get food for ourselves."

Arthur leaned his jaw on his hand and considered. A slow flush
crept over his cheek. He was getting his fighting blood up.

At school, when he began to flush slowly his schoolmates had known
the symptom and avoided his wrath. Now he was growing angry with
mere circumstances, but it would be none the less unfortunate for
those circumstances.

"Well," he said at last deliberately, "we've got to-- What's that?"

There was a great creaking and groaning. Suddenly a sort of
vibration was felt under foot. The floor b