“What confounded fools,” echoed Hamp. “But we couldn’t have known what was going to happen.”
The storehouse, it must be explained, was a triangular hollow between two rocks that stood in the center of the ravine, half-a-dozen yards below the cabin.
Here, snugly covered with one of the sleds, rested most of the provisions—tinned biscuit and meats, potatoes, flour, lard, coffee, pork, and various other articles.
This place had been selected because there was not sufficient room in the cabin.
“We can’t keep alive long on this handful of crackers and beef,” declared Jerry. “We’ve got to get at the supplies somehow or other. Light the lantern till we look about us. Where are the matches?”
“In the storehouse,” muttered Brick. “The sealed bottle, I mean. But we had a box here last night. I saw it lying in that corner.”
Alas! the corner was heaped up with snow, and when Brick dug out the box, it was a sight to be seen. It had been left partly open, and the heads of the matches were one sticky mass.
“Look in your pockets,” Jerry fairly shrieked.
Every pocket was quickly searched, but to no purpose. Not a match could be found.
“No light, and hardly any food,” muttered Jerry, glaring at the two useless lanterns. “Now we must get to the storehouse. There are no two ways about it. I suppose the snowshoes are with the other traps.”