“To make a fire.”
Willis started towards the accomplishment of the task, but Tom, with a despairing sigh, sank to a large boulder of ice.
“Get up Tom,” urged Will.
“But I’m so tired.”
“We must work if we hope to get through the night.”
“And I’m cold and sleepy.”
“Tom! Tom!” cried Will, aroused to positive terror at his words; “you must get up and stir about. That’s just the way people freeze to death in this temperature. Once asleep, you are lost.”
Tom reluctantly arose to his feet and moved about a little. His feet were unsteady, however, and he seemed to be sinking into a sort of torpor.
Willis Moore brought an armful of the pieces of the broken sled to a place Will had selected, where a sort of cave was formed by the grouping of huge blocks of ice.
“Get your knife and whittle off some shavings,” ordered Will.