He felt sadly unprotected, and wished McFarlane nearer at hand. "It may be a lion, but probably it is only a coyote, or a porcupine," he concluded, and lay still for what seemed like hours waiting for the beast to gorge himself and go away. He longed for morning with intense desire, and watched an amazingly luminous star which hung above the eastern cliff, hoping to see it pale and die in dawn light, but it did not; and the wind bit even sharper. His legs ached almost to the cramping-point, and his hip-bones protruded like knots on a log. "I didn't know I had door-knobs on my hips," he remarked, with painful humor, and, looking down at his feet, he saw that a thick rime was gathering on his blanket. "This sleeping out at night isn't what the books crack it up to be," he groaned again, drawing his feet up to the middle of his bed to warm them. "Shall I resign to-morrow? No, I'll stay with it; but I'll have more clothing. I'll have blankets six inches thick. Heaps of blankets--the fleecy kind--I'll have an air-mattress." His mind luxuriated in these details till he fell into an uneasy drowse. VI STORM-BOUND Wayland was awakened by the mellow voice of his chief calling: "_All out! All out! Daylight down the creek!_" Breathing a prayer of thankfulness, the boy sat up and looked about him. "The long night is over at last, and I am alive!" he said, and congratulated himself. He drew on his shoes and, stiff and shivering, stood about in helpless misery, while McFarlane kicked the scattered, charred logs together, and fanned the embers into a blaze with his hat. It was heartening to see the flames leap up, flinging wide their gorgeous banners of heat and light, and in their glow the tenderfoot ranger rapidly recovered his courage, though his teeth still chattered and the forest was dark. "How did you sleep?" asked the Supervisor. "First rate--at least during the latter part of the night," Wayland briskly lied. "That's good. I was afraid that Adirondack bed of yours might let the white wolf in." "My blankets did seem a trifle thin," confessed Norcross. "It don't pay to sleep cold," the Supervisor went on. "A man wants to wake up refreshed, not tired out with fighting the night wind and frost. I always carry a good bed." It was instructive to see how quietly and methodically the old mountaineer went about his task of getting the breakfast. First he cut and laid a couple of eight-inch logs on either side of the fire, so that the wind drew through them properly, then placing his dutch-oven cover on the fire, he laid the bottom part where the flames touched it. Next he filled his coffee-pot with water, and set it on the coals. From his pannier he took his dishes and the flour and salt and pepper, arranging them all within reach, and at last laid some slices of bacon in the skillet. At this stage of the work a smothered cry, half yawn, half complaint, came from the tent. "Oh, hum! Is it morning?" inquired Berrie.