Before nightfall the poles were up in front of the opening and thickly entwined with brush. Only a small doorway was left, and this was closed at night by setting the sled over it. Soon the fire in the rear made the cave-like shelter as warm as toast, so that the boys took off their overcoats and gloves—something they had seldom done in the hut.
Harry was right about it getting colder. After sunset the thermometer fell steadily. Pickles went down to the lake for a pail of water, and came back with his hands and ears half-frozen.
“De coldest night yit, suah!” he exclaimed, as he knocked his feet against the rocks and slapped his hands over his chest to warm them. “We want lots ob firewood to-night, or we’ll all be froze stiff as pokers by moahnin’!”
They were now hungry enough, and Jack set to work, while Pickles got extra wood, to cook a real stew of meat, potatoes and onions. The frost in the air made the concoction smell good, and when the stew was dealt out all ate their full portion.
Being sleepy, they retired early, and every one slept like a “log” until long after sunrise.
“By gracious, but it’s cold!” howled Boxy, the first to rise. “And the fire almost out! Pile on some wood, Pickles!”
“I should say it was cold!” put in Andy, as he got up and stretched himself.
“The coldest yet, without a doubt,” said Harry. “But stir up, all of you! We mustn’t expect summer weather at this time in the year.”
Piping hot coffee soon warmed them up somewhat, and inside of half an hour they were arranging to go out on a hunt. It was resolved that they should leave the fire in first-class shape and all go together, that being so much nicer than dividing up.
This plan was carried out, and before evening they had shot six rabbits, three partridges or grouse, and over a score of woodcock and other birds.