Fuel was heaped upon the fire, and cooking begun. Higher and higher rose the flames, lighting up in a fantastic fashion the group of boys, the snowy landscape and queer-looking hut in the foreground. Shadows danced and chased each other over the ground, light gleamed for an instant on distant objects, then vanished to sparkle again elsewhere.
Refreshed by supper, the boys piled several logs on the fire and resumed work, adding whatever they thought necessary to make their dwelling secure and tight. The door was closed by strips of heavy canvas.
"This is a neat job, Hacky," said Nat. "Don't know just what kind of architecture you'd call it—never saw anything quite so queer-looking in my life—but I'll bet it is going to be comfortable, and that's all we want."
It was not until after nine o'clock that the weary workers ceased their labors. But, despite aching arms and tired backs, each regarded the odd-shaped structure with much satisfaction.
"It would take one of Silas Riggs' blizzards to blow it over," remarked Sam Randall.
"And two of them to wake me up, to-night," yawned Dave.
"Let's throw a bit of brush inside, spread out blankets and turn in," said John Hackett.
"Tired out, Hacky?" laughed Nat.
"Of course not—nowhere near it. I'll bet I could give any fellow in the crowd fifty feet start and beat him across the lake," and Hackett's eyes sparkled with indignation at the thought of his endurance having been questioned.
The boys hung a lantern from the ceiling, and as the light revealed the cozy interior, broke into a hearty cheer.