s an old dead tree right close to the door of the
cave," he added hastily. "We might get some wood off that."

"What were you saying?" inquired Bill. "Never mind the wood."

"Nothing--I forget, I mean. Come on, let's get some wood--I'm hungry."

And in spite of his most persistent efforts, not another word could
Bill Carmody get out of the youngster, except the mournful soliloquy
that:

"I bet Uncle Appleton _will_ whale me--anyway, he couldn't whale as
hard as you."

In the thick blackness of the storm the man groped blindly near the
snow-choked entrance to the den, guided in his search for the dead tree
by the voice of the boy from the interior.

It was no easy task to twist off the dead limbs and carry them one by
one to the cavern where the boy piled them against the wall. At length,
however, it was accomplished, and Bill crept in and whittled a pile of
fine shavings.

A few minutes later the flicker of a tiny flame flashed up, the
shavings ignited, and the narrow cavity lighted to the crackle of the
fire. Together they skinned the rabbit which the dead lynx had dropped,
and soon they were busily engaged in roasting it over the flames.

The two were far from comfortable. Despite the fact that the fire had
been built as near as possible to the entrance, the smoke whipped back
into their faces. The air became blue and heavy, they coughed, and
tears streamed from their eyes at the sting of it.

"I'm thirsty," said the boy, as he finished his portion of the rabbit.
"I guess we'll have to eat snow; there's nothing to melt it in."

"Never eat snow," the man cautioned as his eyes swept the barren
interior.

"Why not?"

"It will burn you out. I don't know why, but when a man starts eating
snow, it's all off."

Directly in front of him, in the rock floor, was a slight depression,
and with a stick Bill scraped the fire close to this natural basin and
filled it with dry snow. At the end of ten minutes the snow had melted,
leaving a pool of filthy, black water.

"It's the best we can do," laughed the man as the boy made a wry face
as he gulped down a swallow of the bitter floor-washing.

They set about skinning the _loup-cervier_, and spread the pelt upon
the floor for a robe.

"We'll have to tackle the cat for breakfast," grinned Bill.

"Oh, this is fun!" cried the boy. "It's like getting cast away and
living in a cave, like you read about." But the humor of the situation
failed to enthuse Bill, who light