"I can't. All the buck is soaked out of me," wailed the fat boy.
"We might as well put up the tent while we are about it," advised Cale. "After that we shall see what can be done."
"Is—is there anything to eat in the packs?" begged Chunky.
"We shall find something," replied Cale cheerfully. "This is nothing, except the provoking part of not having any matches. Got the tent, Master Tad?"
"Yes, sir."
"I will cut a sapling or two for the frame; then we will put the camp to rights."
"There are two saplings right here by the ponies that I think will answer the purpose. Shall I cut them, Mr. Vaughn?" asked Butler.
"No, I will do that."
Tad and the guide worked in the darkness almost to as good purpose as if the hour had been midday. In a short time they had pitched the little tent in which the five were to sleep that night. Next they gathered all the spruce and cedar boughs they could lay their hands on, shaking the water from the browse as best they could, then piling the stuff inside the tent until the little structure was almost full to the peak.
"Isn't there anything I can do?" asked Ned.