“Proof of the puddin’ lies in the eatin’ of the same, George,” said Josh, “and I know you too well to believe you’ll ever be satisfied to run along like Jack and Herb do. But see there, our fire kindler’s got up to the shack, all serene. And now he’s bending down to fix his kindlin’ right. We’ll soon know, George, and if she goes, since it’s your scheme, I’m willing to say you done it with your little hatch-it.”
Just as Josh said, the logger had managed to gain the shelter of the back wall of the shack. Now, in order to keep out the rain without bothering with a door, the cabin had been made with its only opening on the side up-river; so that what the boys had been calling its back was really the front side.
And with the movement of the raft always down-stream; and the night air being from the south just then, if the fire were ever properly started, it would be fanned constantly, and helped along by this process.
Jack kept watch on the dark opening that stood for the entrance, and means of exit. He meant to shoot, if any figure was seen to appear outside this; not with the idea of doing bodily injury, but in the expectation of frightening the man back, before he could make use of his weapon upon the fire-kindler.
So the seconds crept along, until several minutes had passed.
“Gee! why don’t he get a move on?” remarked George, to whom the time hung as if it were weighed down with lead.
“Let him be,” said the other logger, named Hanky. “Fritz is sum slow, but then he gits there in the end. Watch his smoke, son, an’ see!”