or ten logs as heavy as the whole party could lug to
camp with hand-spikes. The size of the logs was proportioned to the
muscular force in camp. If there was a party of six or eight, the logs
would be twice as heavy as when we were three or four. Just at dark,
there would be a log heap built in front of the camp, well chinked with
bark, knots and small sticks; and, for the next two hours, one could
hardly get at the fire to light a pipe. But the fire was sure though
slow. By 10 or 11 P.M. it would work its way to the front and the camp
would be warm and light. The party would turn in and deep sleep would
fall on a lot of tired hunters--for two or three hours. By which time
some fellow near the middle was sure to throw his blanket off with a
spiteful jerk and dash out of camp with, "Holly Moses! I can't stand
this; it's an oven."

Another Snorer (partially waking).--"N-r-r-rm, gu-r-r, ugh. Can't
you--deaden--fire--a little?"

First Speaker.--"Deaden hell. If you want the fire deadened, get up
and help throw off some of these logs."

Another (in coldest corner of shanty)--"What's 'er matter with a-you
fellows? Better dig out--an' cool off in the snow. Shanty's comfor'ble
enough."

His minority report goes unheeded. The camp is roasted out. Strong
hands and hand-spikes pry a couple of glowing logs from the front and
replace them with two cold, green logs; the camp cools off and the
party takes to blankets once more--to turn out again at 5 A.M. and
inaugurate breakfast.

The fire is not in favorable shape for culinary operations, the heat
is mainly on the back side, just where it isn't wanted. The few places
level enough to set a pot or pan are too hot; and, in short, where
there is any fire, there is too much. One man sees, with intense
disgust, the nozzle of his coffeepot drop into the fire. He makes a
rash grab to save his coffee and gets away--with the handle, which
hangs on just enough to upset the pot.

"Old Al," who is frying a slice of pork over a bed of coals that would
melt a gun barrel, starts a hoarse laugh, that is cut short by a blue
flash and an explosion of pork fat, which nearly blinds him. And the
writer, taking in these mishaps in the very spirit of fun and frolic,
is suddenly sobered and silenced by seeing his venison steak drop from
the end of the "frizzling stick," and disappear between two glowing
logs. The party manages, however, to get off on the hunt at daylight,
with full stomachs; and pe