The fat boy sat up, and looked at his companion in misery as though startled.
“What you mean, Giraffe, by slingin’ that scare into me; I’d like to know what’s worse than starvin’ to death in a single night?” he demanded.
“Oh! shucks! don’t you worry about that,” the other went on, with a sneer. “Not so much chance of our comin’ to such an end in so short a time. But there is real danger around us, Bumpus.”
“Say, do you mean about them wolves?” exclaimed Bumpus, with a tremble in his voice.
“That’s just what I do mean,” came the reply “When they tackled our comrades, why they were bold as anything, even if the boys did have a fire burning all the time. Think of how we’re up against it, without a single match to start a blaze.”
“Then there’s only one thing for us to do, Giraffe.”
“Suppose you tell me what that is?” demanded the tall scout.
“Climb a tree,” replied Bumpus, promptly.
Giraffe made an impatient gesture.
“Of course we could do that, as a last resort, Bumpus; but the chances are, if we did, we’d freeze before morning!” he declared. “I’ve heard old hunters say that of all the agony they ever endured, being kept in a tree all night was the worst. Feel in your pockets again, Bumpus; try everywhere, and see if you can only scare up one single match. If you did, we’d be mighty careful not to waste it, I tell you. This is a case of ‘my kingdom for a match!’”