"Did you hear it, too?" demanded his brother, instantly. "Yes, and more than one wolf answered the long howl. They are sending signals across the forest. I think we will have visitors before the night is over." Sandy hurried through the remainder of his primitive supper, almost bolting the last few morsels. Then he once more started to make good use of the sharp hatchet. While he worked after this fashion his brother began to search for objects with which to fill up the gap to leeward as much as possible. "Good!" Sandy presently heard him exclaim from the midst of the blinding snow close by. "Here lie several old logs. This way, and give me a hand. They will make a grand fort." It required considerable effort to drag the half-rotted logs into position; but where there is a will there is nearly always a way, and in the end the object of their desires was accomplished. "Could hardly be much better, I take it," was Sandy's enthusiastic comment, as he stood back and surveyed the result of their labors. "No, and I wager it would be a pretty rash wolf that would dare try to leap that barrier," remarked his brother, now taking a turn with the hatchet, as the size of the pile of fuel did not altogether please him, with a long night ahead and that bitter wind rushing through the woods. Finally both were too wearied to attempt anything more, so they sat down alongside the cheery blaze, to rest ere trying to sleep. One might think it rather a hazardous thing to lose themselves in slumber without any covering; but they knew many of the tricks of the pioneers of the day, and that, if they kept their feet warm, all would be well. Besides, both boys had been warmly clad when starting forth on their search for game, for they had an industrious mother, whose spinning-wheel seldom knew a day's rest. (Note 3.) It was decided that a watch must be kept, since they were surrounded by so many perils. If the fire went out they might have a foot or hand frozen, and the absence of the blaze must encourage the forest howlers to make an attack, eager to secure a share of that fresh venison. Bob had placed the meat, again wrapped up in the skin, as far back as possible under the matted roots of the fallen monarch of the forest. Both boys were grimly determined that they would fight desperately to retain possession of their prize, since that store of food meant much to the dear ones back at the humble cabin home. "What are you thinking about, Bob?" asked Sandy, as he watched the play of the fire across his brother's resolute face, and noted the expression, almost wistful, that came upon it at times. "It was about father," he replied, speaking the word tenderly, for David Armstrong had ever been a kind and affectionate parent, and was fairly worshipped by his little flock.