“Gee, but I’d like another whack at that steak,” Jack said a little later as they sat by the fire eating their supper of sandwiches washed down with huge mouthsful of hot coffee. “These sandwiches are all right, but oh you beefsteak.”
“You said a mouthful then,” Bob laughed as he drained the coffee pot into his tin dipper.
Darkness was silently stealing through the vast forest as they finished the simple meal and by the time they had washed their plates and cups in the brook, it was almost dark.
“We want to be off as soon as it is light in the morning,” Bob said as he threw a couple of big logs, which he had found near the camp, on to the fire.
“If we get started early enough we ought to make twenty miles or more before the snow gets soft, so I move that we hit the hay right off.”
“I guess you mean hit the boughs,” Jack laughed. “But anyhow if you have the idea of going to bed in your mind I’m with you. I’m tired enough to go to sleep standing up.”
So they lost no time in crawling into the sleeping bags, which lined with sheep’s wool, were very warm, and pulling over themselves another blanket, they were soon lost to the world.
The next day was Sunday and they never did any traveling on that day if it could be avoided. But, in the present case, they both felt that it was perfectly justifiable.
Long ago Bob had acquired the ability to wake at any time he desired and, before going to sleep, he had set his mental alarm clock, as he called it, for four o’clock, and almost to the minute he opened his eyes. It was still dark and for an instant he wondered where he was. Then memory, aided by the heavy scent of the spruce boughs, returned and moving quietly, so as not to disturb his brother, he crawled out of his bag.
A few live embers still smouldered among the ashes of last night’s fire and, with the aid of a few bits of birch bark, he soon had the blaze leaping toward the sky.