In the fierceness of the storm, while the campers had been in the big tent, some wild beast, or, perhaps, several of them, had stolen up and carried away most of the food on which Jack and his chums depended. Nor could it be said what beasts had robbed them, for their tracks were obliterated by the snow that had fallen since.
“Well, this is tough luck!” exclaimed Jack. “What are we going to do now?”
“There’s some bacon left from breakfast,” said Budge. “Have to eat that, I guess.”
“Yes; and, thank goodness, the thieves didn’t care for coffee,” added Nat. “We sha’n’t starve, at least, to-night.”
“There’s some canned stuff left, too,” went on Will.
“But it won’t last long, if this storm keeps up,” spoke Jack seriously. “I guess we’re going to be up against it, fellows.”
“Like fish?” asked Long Gun suddenly.
“What have fish got to do with it?” inquired Bony.
“Catch fish through ice soon. Storm stop,” replied the Indian. “River plenty full fish.”
“That’s a good idea,” commented Jack. “But when will the blizzard stop?”