The knowledge of his second mistake increased his ill humor. He spread his poncho and sat on the bed. Don still gathered leaves.
"Trying to rub it in," Tim reflected. "Just like telling me, 'See, why didn't you camp when I said so?'"
Don turned from his bed, dived into his pack and brought out a can.
"How about eats, Tim?"
Tim was disgusted with the whole adventure. In this black mood he did not relish the thought of cold food in the dark. He wanted light, and a hot drink—something to chase away the gloom.
He kicked together some wood. He found small twigs, broke them and made a pile. Then he drew out matches.
Don was opening a can. "What's wrong, Tim?"
"I'm going to have a fire."
"Fire?" Don dropped the can. "Good night! do you want the Eagles and
Foxes coming down and gobbling us?"
"Piffle!" said Tim. "Do you think they'll sit around in the dark?
Anyway, I want a cup of coffee."