“Let us see if we can’t set a trap for the wildcat,” suggested Boxy while they were eating. “Pickles, couldn’t you fix something strong enough to hold him?”
“I might, wid de sled rope an’ a limbery young tree,” replied the colored youth.
“Catching the wildcat now would be like locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen,” grumbled Jack. “However, catch him if you can, and then he won’t be able to worry us any more.”
So, after the meal was finished, and all that was left was carefully stowed away, they set to work to build the trap, which, when finished, was baited with bits of such meat as remained uncooked.
By five o’clock it was dark, and once again they sought the hut, which now had the appearance of a regular home to them. The blankets were dry, and Jack took the largest pot and brought it in filled with live embers from the fire. This warmed up the place, and the ruddy glow pleased them besides.
They tried to be cheerful during the long evening, but were not as successful as they wished. They could not help thinking of the almost empty larder, and wondering how they should restock it.
The night passed without interruption. The wind blew strongly, sometimes causing the trees composing the corner posts of the hut to bend slightly, and the snow came down steadily. At eight o’clock in the morning the situation remained unchanged.
“Deeper than ever,” muttered Harry, as he gazed out of the doorway. “Boys, this is getting serious.”
“It is, when we are running low on food,” said Boxy. “We’ve got about enough left for one square meal, and that’s all.”
“Anything in the trap?” asked Andy.