Tom, beginning to feel conscious of a score or two of bees stinging his right leg, looked down at that member, and was surprised to find his boot was removed and its place supplied by bandages.
“You won’t be lame more’n a few days,” said Baranov consolingly. “He only jest raked you with his claws. But the bleeding made ye faint, most likely. You’re all right naow.”
It was very pleasant lying there and watching the other two in their preparations for the night. A roaring fire was kindled, and although the sun was still high, the warmth of the red flames was by no means unwelcome.
Slash, slash! went Solomon’s keen ax, and tree after tree came swishing down before its strokes. Some of them he trimmed with a dozen clips to each, and bade Fred carry the boughs into camp. As if by magic a framework of crotched sticks, props and rafters grew under the sheltering fir, boughs were piled on and across them, and by six o’clock there was a snug brush camp ready for occupancy, with a bed of fragrant fir boughs two feet deep. Then came the firewood—larger trees, felled and cut into six-foot lengths.
When a good pile of these had been provided, and not before, Solomon drove his ax into the trunk of the fir, pulled on his coat, and sitting down on a small log which, running across the front of the camp formed a sort of seat and threshold to it, opened his bag and drew out a black coffee-pot. This being placed on the fire, he started off for the scene of the late battle.
“I ’low we’ll have a good b’ar steak to-night,” he said, as he went. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
While he is preparing supper for the two tired and hungry boys, we will return to the gentler portion of the family, and follow the Queen northward on its voyage.