their pockets, in the faint hope
of finding a cartridge or an overlooked match head.

"If we don't find some way to make a fire before sunset," said
Macgregor gloomily, "we'll have to attack the cabin to-night. I really
don't believe we could live through a night without fire, with nothing
to eat, especially as we had no sleep last night."

"Surely if we went up to the cabin, they'd give us some fire," Maurice
protested. "They wouldn't let us die in the snow."

"That's just what they count on us to do," said the Scotchman bitterly.

No one said anything about renewing the guard on the cabin. Nothing
seemed to matter much--nothing except the cold. The morsels of
half-raw food they had eaten that morning did not keep them from being
ravenously hungry again, and an empty stomach is poor protection
against Arctic cold.

Like the rest of them, Fred was heavily clad, but the cold seemed to
find his skin as if he were naked. He began to feel numb to the bone,
lethargic, incapable of moving. Then he realized his danger, forced
himself awake, and tried to think of some expedient for making a fire.

Flints could not be found under three feet of snow. A
burning-glass--if they only had one! It should have been included in
the outfit.

And then an idea flashed upon him. He jumped up suddenly.

"Wait here for me, fellows!" he cried.

He rushed off toward the river, and came back in a few minutes with a
piece of clear ice, almost as large as his palm, and an inch or two
thick. He slipped off his mittens, and began to rub it between his
hands, so as to melt it down with the heat of his skin.

"See what it is? Burning-glass!" he exclaimed.

"But you can't make a burning-glass of _ice_!" said Maurice.

"Why not? Anyhow, I'm going to try."

But before he had worked the ice long, he had to stop, for his hands
seemed freezing. While he beat and rubbed them, Maurice, incredulous
but willing, took the lump of ice, and shaped it down while the heat
lasted in his hands. He then passed it on to Macgregor, who in turn
handed it to Fred again. He finally succeeded in melting and curving
it roughly into the proper shape.

He tried it on the back of his hand. An irregular but small and
intensely hot spot of light concentrated itself there.

"I do believe it will work!" Peter cried.

They hastily collected a handful of fine, dry hair moss from the fir
branches, and peeled filmy shreds of birch bark. Fred brought t