“I think we are getting the best of it,” cried Jack, after five minutes of hard work.
“We are,” returned Harry. “But it is by no means out yet. Keep up the good work, all hands!”
Pickles had succeeded in chopping a hole in the ice on the creek, and now came back with a bucket of water.
“Give it to me, and I’ll run through the doorway and plant it on any blaze inside!” cried Jack, and bucket in hand, he disappeared into the hut.
“It’s all right in there, so far,” he said, on reappearing. “Go on with the snow.”
They continued to fling the huge chunks of snow on the flames until all that remained was a small fire several yards away from the hut entrance.
“Might as well leave that for a campfire,” suggested Harry. “We want something to keep us warm and to see by.”
“Phew! but I am warm enough just now!” exclaimed Boxy, wiping the smut and perspiration from his face. “That’s the hardest work I have done in some time.”
“Be careful that you don’t catch cold,” warned Harry. “The wind cuts like a knife to-night.”
“What time is it?”