At last the guide knocked the ashes from his pipe, and after closing and bolting the door, much to the satisfaction of the boys, declared it time to go to bed. Ed and George decided to share a bunk between them, and chose one of the upper ones. Bidding the men good night, they climbed aloft, rolled themselves in the heavy blankets, and, sinking deep in the fragrant bed of balsam, were soon sound asleep.
George was rudely awakened by something striking him forcibly on the chest and scampering across his face. Rising bolt upright in his fright, he grasped Ed by the hair. As he, too, sat up half asleep, George inquired, breathlessly, “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” asked Ed, at once wide awake.
“Listen!” cautioned George, in a hoarse whisper.
They sat perfectly still, and, above the nervous thumpings of their own hearts, heard strange scamperings, thuds, and scratchings on the logs near the roof of the cabin. Then something soft and furry sailed through space and struck Ed full in the face. This was more than they could stand, and, uttering a wild yell, both of them tumbled out of their bunk and scrambled hastily down to where the woodsmen lay convulsed with laughter.
“What’s the matter with you fellows?” asked Ben, when they tugged at his arm with trembling fingers.
“Say, Ben, there is some kind of wild animal up there!” stammered George, endeavoring to keep his teeth from chattering.
“Yes, and it sprang right in my face!” added Ed, ducking his head when he heard another sound above him in the darkness.
Ben laughed so heartily that the boys began to feel somewhat ashamed for having told him anything about it. Then he explained it to them.
“Why, those are little flying squirrels, the prettiest little fellows you ever saw. I’ll show them to you to-morrow. They couldn’t harm a baby. However, you can take that lower bunk opposite us, and they won’t bother you any more to-night.”