hat scare into me; I'd like to
know what's worse than starvin' to death in a single night?" he
demanded.

"Oh! shucks! don't you worry about that," the other went on, with a
sneer. "Not so much chance of our comin' to such an end in so short a
time. But there is real danger around us, Bumpus."

"Say, do you mean about them wolves?" exclaimed Bumpus, with a tremble
in his voice.

"That's just what I do mean," came the reply "When they tackled our
comrades, why they were bold as anything, even if the boys did have a
fire burning all the time. Think of how we're up against it, without a
single match to start a blaze."

"Then there's only one thing for us to do, Giraffe."

"Suppose you tell me what that is?" demanded the tall scout.

"Climb a tree," replied Bumpus, promptly.

Giraffe made an impatient gesture.

"Of course we could do that, as a last resort, Bumpus; but the chances
are, if we did, we'd freeze before morning!" he declared. "I've heard
old hunters say that of all the agony they ever endured, being kept in a
tree all night was the worst. Feel in your pockets again, Bumpus; try
everywhere, and see if you can only scare up _one_ single match. If
you did, we'd be mighty careful not to waste it, I tell you. This is a
case of 'my kingdom for a match!'"

So the fat scout commenced a systematic search, Every single pocket did
he feel in with trembling fingers, while his comrade watched his face
anxiously, knowing that it was likely to indicate the success or failure
of the search.

When he saw a sudden grin come upon that broad countenance Giraffe felt
like bursting out into a yell of joy.

"Got one, haven't you Bumpus?" he exclaimed, eagerly. "That was a bully
good idea of mine after all, you see, having you look again. Say, won't
we be careful of that one precious match, though? And won't we have the
fine dry stuff all ready to kindle, as soon as I strike it. You must let
me handle things, Bumpus, because, you know, I'm more used to--what's
the matter with you? Don't tell me it _ain't_ a match after all?
Oh! thunder!"

Bumpus had slowly drawn his hand out of his pocket, and held some object
up between his forefinger and his thumb. It was about the length of a
match, but had a sharpened point, instead of a blunt head.

"A--a miserable toothpick that I just dropped into my pocket when we ate
that dinner at the restaurant!" groaned the wretched Bumpus, staring
first at the offending object, and then tu