It was no easy matter to build a snowhouse about the fire, but the boys worked with a will, and by three o’clock in the afternoon the task was finished.
The walls of the new structure rose nearly ten feet, and were three feet thick. The entrance to it was from the hut, and a narrow passageway which led toward the creek. The top was roofed over, except in the center, which was left open to let the smoke from the fire escape.
“I don’t know if that is going to last or not,” said Harry. “But we can try it anyway.”
“It will last if it remains cold,” returned Jack. “But if it gets milder, and the fire blazes up too hotly we’ll have to ‘stand from under,’ as the saying is.”
“I don’t believe it is going to get any milder just yet. If anything, the thermometer is going down steadily.”
“That is because it is going toward evening. But we’ll know more about it in the morning. One thing is certain: hunting is knocked endways for a day or two.”
After the work outside was finished, they had another meal, a dinner and supper combined, and then withdrew into the hut, where Pickles tried to liven up matters by playing his banjo and mouth harmonica and singing half-a-dozen songs. The boys joined in the chorus of the songs, and soon they were as gay as if the elements were perfect for the furtherance of their outing.
“If we have to stay in to-morrow, I am going to try my hand at making some traps,” said Andy. “I want to trap something before we go back.”
“So do I!” cried Boxy. “Pickles, you must put us in the way of this.”
“I will, suah!” responded the colored youth. “My dad learned me all about traps when I was knee-high to a mosquito.”