Tom Gray, who, before the evening was far advanced, went out to examine the strange twisted little trees that grew here and there, discovered that they were full of pitch. He said nothing to his companions, but, moving back a little distance from the camp, he tested one with a match. The trunk of the twisted tree flared instantly. He put out the blaze with snow and returned to camp.
“How would you folks like a real camp-fire?” he asked.
“There ain’t no such thing,” mocked Emma.
Grace gazed at her husband inquiringly, knowing quite well that Tom had some plan for a fire in mind.
“The easiest thing in the world, my dear friends,” chuckled Tom. “All that is needed to make a regular conflagration is the know-how.” Tom struck a match against the trunk of a small scrubby tree against which he was standing, and held the match close to the trunk until he felt the heat, then sprang away from it. The tree blazed up gloriously.
“I did it with my magic wand!” he cried, waving his arms dramatically.
Exclamations of wonder greeted the achievement, and the Overlanders gathered about the blaze, holding out their hands to catch some of the warmth.
“Me savvy nicee piecee fire,” observed Chunky solemnly.
“However did you do it, Tom?” wondered Nora.
“The tree is filled with pitch,” answered Tom Gray. “When we get ready to turn in we will light another one. I don’t suppose we shall get any warmth from it, but we can hear it crackle, which will be some comfort.”