Jimmie, seeing the dusk which seemed to be gathering in upon them from the shadows of the trees, brought the lantern from the wagon and was going to hang it lighted from a tree. But the big man would not hear of this. He would have no smelly lanterns around a sylvan feast, he said. And since he was seconded by Augusta he had his way. From under the house he dragged out a fire cradle, a wire basket on the end of an iron rod, which is used in the prow of a boat for spearing fish at night. This he drove fast into the top of a stump and filled it with knots of resinous wood. The strong reddish light had the effect of drawing the darkness down upon them immediately, so that they could not see a thing beyond the radius of its rays. It gave them a feeling of complete isolation from all the world, such as only a campfire at night can give, and, in a way, a sense of security. But Wardwell could not help thinking, and only with difficulty refrained from saying, that it was a foolish thing for a hunted man to so advertise his whereabouts with a light that could attract attention for miles in the hills. The big Irishman, however, seemed the most unworried fugitive at large. "No," he declared, as though continuing an argument, "you couldn't do a thing in the world better than to stop right here till the snow flies." It was plain that Augusta had talked plans with him while Jimmie and Donahue were down at the lake. "Or if there is one thing better it'd be to stop right here through the winter." "But, Lord Alive man!" said Jimmie, appalled at the idea, "we'd freeze to death! You don't know, and I don't want to know, what the cold is like here." "I know it well. But I never knew anybody yet that froze to death in it." "Yes, but we're city folks," Jimmie argued. "We wouldn't know how to keep ourselves alive. Don't forget that we've been brought up to hug radiators." "An' that's the very thing that you must forget. The way to keep warm is not to get cold. Get an ax, there's a good one inside there, and go at the windfall wood here. Agen the time comes when ye'll want the wood for big rousing fires ye'll have a fire up inside of you shootin blood through your veins in a way that'll let you laugh at cold." "I'm not sure that I'd have the nerve to try it," said Jimmie doubtfully. "But even if I had there are two things that seem to be objections." "What two things?" "Well, first, there's--my wife," Jimmie explained a little stiffly, "she couldn't chop wood, so she'd just naturally have to freeze." "Leave it to a woman to face any dare," said the big man easily. "She'll come through and laugh, when you'll be fit to cry." "I know that," Jimmie admitted. "But, besides, there's Mr. McQuade to be thought of. He hasn't yet given us any invitation to move into his camp and use his ax."