Dropping their load in the snow, they felt their way between the trees, and then broke off some of the small branches for firewood. They got the driest they could find.
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" came suddenly from Whopper.
"What's up?"
"I haven't a single match! Have you any?"
In haste Shep felt in his pocket. There were two matches there, but one felt as if it was no good.
"I've got two, but one feels as if the top was off," he announced.
"For gracious sake, don't let the good one go out, Shep! Here, I've got an old letter in my pocket. Light that first."
The doctor's son felt in his other pockets and brought forth part of an old railroad timetable. The papers were bunched together and held low, while Shep tried to strike the match that had lost part of its head. It made a faint streak of light, but that was all.
"Is that the good one?" asked Whopper, hoarsely. Never before had he been so anxious about a light.
"No. I'll try the good one now," answered the doctor's son.