“Arctic feathers!” exclaimed Curlie in surprise. “What are they?”
“Wait and see.”
Jennings studied the shapely spruce trees which towered about them on every side. Then he allowed his eyes to wander over the surface of the earth’s two-foot-thick mantle of snow.
“That’s a good place,” he pointed at a smooth spot which was surrounded by trees. “First we’ll tramp down the snow. No need of shoveling it away.”
At once they set to work packing down a square of snow.
“Might as well start right,” said the miner. “We’re going into a land of long nights. Fairly long now but they’ll get much longer. Get to be twenty hours. If we start making camp right we’ll have all the comforts of home.”
“There,” he said at last, “guess that’ll do. Now we’ll divide up the work and make the jobs regular; each fellow do the same thing every night. System, that’s what you need on the trail, as well as in business.”
Turning to Joe he said: “There’s a likely looking tree right there. Cut it down.”
“It won’t burn; it’s green.”
“Who said it would?”