"Of course we can try to hide the fire some," explained the guide; "but on a cold night like this the reds are not apt to be moving, and the risk will be slight." "Well, if the rest can stand it, I ought to, so now let us begin in earnest to find a camping-ground," and Roger started looking to the right and left as though he did not want to lose a minute. Indeed, at that season of the year in this far northern clime, while the twilight might linger for an hour or more, once the sun had set they could not see well under the canopy of pines. These, in places, had kept much of the snow from reaching the ground, and there was a reasonable hope that they could run across some spot that offered shelter from the piercing night wind. Mayhew was so well versed in backwoods lore that he could be depended on to locate such a camp ground. If necessary they could build a windbreak out of branches, and behind this make their fire. Before long the guide gave them to understand that he had sighted what seemed to be an admirable spot for passing the night. "Over yonder you can see where I mean," he told them, pointing as he spoke; and even Roger was forced to admit that it offered advantages other places had lacked. Mayhew took his hatchet and cut several slabs from the bark of a tree. It was to be noticed that he did this on the side nearest their intended camp; but neither of the pioneer boys asked why this was done, because their hunter instinct told them Mayhew was only leaving his mark so that in the morning they would lose no time in picking up the trail of the lone buffalo. Once they arrived at the spot selected as their next camp all started to work. Dick and Mayhew began to erect a thick screen of brush on the windward side, while Roger collected fuel wherever he could find it. When he had made quite a pile of broken limbs, and splinters from a fallen pine tree, Roger got out his tinder-box and flints, and presently the rising smoke told that his fire was a success. As the night closed in around them it was a rather cheery scene that Roger looked upon, while engaged in gathering a further supply of wood, perhaps twenty or thirty paces away. His two companions were still engaged in adding the finishing touches to the barricade; the flames leaped up with a snap and a sparkle, and the glow of the fire seemed to give the surrounding snow a rosy tint that did much to take away its cold look. Roger sighed as he tightened his belt, drawing it up another notch, a familiar habit with hungry men. "I think we will have to call this Camp Starvation, Dick," he remarked, as he threw down the armful of fuel he had collected. "No, that would hardly be a proper name for it," the other told him immediately; "because we haven't reached that point yet. I mean to put it down in my memory as Camp Hope!"