“You’re right. We haven’t anything to make coffee in, and about the only food we can eat is the steak we bought. We can spear that on a stick and cook it. Let’s try it.”
Almost feeling their way, they began to chop into the wet log with the camp axes which they carried at their belts. The top wood was soft and pulpy, and even that which they hacked out of the heart of the log was not very dry. After the most tiresome efforts they succeeded in getting a pile of questionable wood together, and then came the task of setting it afire. Both of them huddled close to the pile and jealously guarded the tiny flame of the matches as they attempted to ignite the sticks and bits of wood. Six matches were soon wasted.
“This looks hopeless,” Barry sighed. “Even the good store paper won’t light.”
Kent jumped up. “What dummies we are! This storm has us buffaloed! We have two long containers of kerosene oil on the sled!”
“Oh, good night!” exclaimed Barry, in disgust. “Of course we have! Douse this wood with it and then we won’t have any trouble starting our fire.”
Unscrewing the top of a container, Kent poured some of the oil on the massed-up wood and then replaced the oil can on the sled. This time they had no difficulty, and when the match flame touched the oil-soaked wood, the fire ran rapidly from chip to chip until all were blazing. The cold and hungry boys stooped low and held out grateful hands to the flame.
“Doesn’t a fire feel good?” Kent exulted.
“Doesn’t it?” his companion echoed. He straightened up and began to search under the sled canvas for the steak which they had purchased at Fox Point. “We’ll have to get at our cooking right away, because when the oil burns off, this wood is going to be poor material, especially when we add more to it.”
“You’re right about that,” Kent acknowledged. “I’ll cut a couple of sharp sticks to cook the steak on.” He took out his hunting knife and hacked at some bushes that showed dimly in the shadows from the fire. Before long he had procured two fine shafts, and then he proceeded to sharpen a point on each one. In the meantime Barry cut the steak in two and then cut it again.
“Maybe some of those things on the sled ought to go with us when we leave here,” he observed, as he thrust the pointed stick through the steak. “We don’t know how long we may be on the march, and we’ll want food with us.”