"Perhaps we'll get warm in a few minutes. Let's try it again," put in Sam.
The boys lay very still, and silence again reigned.
"Fellows, it's no use." Dave leaned on his elbow. "I—I can't sleep." His teeth were chattering.
"Nor I."
"What are we going to do? We haven't any more blankets."
"Yes—what are we going to do?"
Little Tom Clifton's voice was so despairing that the other boys broke into a hearty laugh.
"I think I know what's the matter," said Bob, suddenly. "We're a lot of dunces."
"Why—how?"
"The cold strikes up from the ground. No matter how much stuff we pile on top of us, we couldn't get warm. The brush beds ought to be about three times as thick."