“And I have my doubts about finding it in the morning,” said Bob, cheerfully. “If you want to camp here all night, scrape some of these dry leaves together and start a blaze, while I look around for some firewood.”
“I wish now that we had shot some of the squirrels that had the impudence to bark at us as we came along,” said Dick, depositing his heavy basket at the foot of the nearest tree, and drawing together a pile of leaves, as his companion had requested. “They would have made a good supper for us; but, as it is, we shall have to be satisfied with bread and butter and a cup of tea. Hand out the matches.”
“I have none. Didn’t you bring some with you?”
“No. I didn’t suppose we should need any.”
Bob uttered a low, long-drawn whistle.
“Here’s the mischief to pay, and nothing to pay it with,” said he. “We’ve got a gloomy night before us, Dick, but that needn’t worry you any. It’s nothing when you get used to it.”
“No matches!” exclaimed Dick, trying to pierce the almost impenetrable darkness with eyes that must have been very badly frightened, for they persisted in transforming every tree and bush into some dangerous beast that was about to open hostilities. “No matches!” he repeated, shivering all over as the mournful hoot of a distant owl came faintly to his ears. “Bob, I wouldn’t stay here all night without fire for all the money there is in America.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Bob, who was very much surprised.
As it was nothing new for him to pass a night in the woods, he didn’t care whether he had a fire to sit by or not, and he could not imagine why his companion should exhibit so much timidity.
“There is nothing in this country bigger than a raccoon—”