"Not many could beat this job," declared Bob Somers; "eh, Chubby?"
"Say—but I am tired," was Dave's response. "Good thing we have sleeping-bags and plenty of blankets. Going to be a tight squeeze, though," he added.
"You take one-half of the hut, and the rest of us the other," said Bob, humorously. "Here's my place, right where I'm standing."
Rubber blankets were spread over the fragrant fir brush, the sleeping-bags were put on those, and one by one, the boys lay down. Soon there was silence, save for the fire, the glowing embers of which occasionally cracked with a sharp report.
But it was not for long. Bob sat up.
"Wow—say, fellows, I'm nearly frozen. Got a trunk load of blankets on, too."
"And I can't sleep for the cold, either," groaned Dave.
"It feels like the arctic regions," said Tom Clifton, in muffled tones. "My feet are like lumps of ice."
"And I'm nearly frozen," growled Hackett. "How about you, Nat?"
"Feel like a snow man—and that's no joke."