Jack took the little axe and started off. He was obliged to hunt for some time before finding a dead tree, which, lying beneath a thick spruce, was fairly dry. Fifteen minutes later he returned, carrying a large armful of wood, and soon a cheerful fire was as Rex declared, thawing the frost out of their bones.
“Kernertok and I’ll get dinner if you and Rex’ll get some more of that wood,” Bob suggested.
“Righto. Come on, Rex. We’ll bring in a load big enough to build a house.”
“Better make that house a wood shed,” Rex laughed as he followed him into the forest.
It rained hard all that afternoon, but only a few drops now and then found their way through the thick spruce branches, and they were fairly comfortable.
“It’s too bad to lose all this time,” Bob said late in the afternoon. “But it’s a whole lot better than getting soaked and catching cold. I tell you, Rex, it’s no fun being sick in the woods.”
“Although I never had that experience and never want to for that matter, I can readily believe you,” Rex replied soberly.
“Injun heap sick alone in woods one time. White boys save him,” Kernertok told Rex.
“And Kernertok has more than paid the white boys back,” Jack declared, but the Indian only shook his head.
“We could use a good trout for supper, Jack,” Bob announced a little later.