"Put if the beast come what'll she do?"

"Beasts? They are not likely to come here."

"Put if she shall come, what then?" queried Watty sharply.

"Then," said the captain, smiling--"why, then you must climb up the
cliff there, and wait till we come back."

"Yes," said Watty thoughtfully; "tat's the pest thing to do."

Five minutes later he was alone frizzling more of the reindeer haunch
freshly cut from the bone with his big sharp knife, for the others had
started off at once for the little valley Johannes had pointed out.

"She'll pe ferry lanely all alane," said Watty, after watching till the
doctor, who was last, had disappeared. "What'll she do till they come
pack?"

He stood watching the fire, and thinking. Then at last:

"There'll pe plenty left for Meester Stevey when she comes, and she
tidn't get enough pefore, so she'll pegin to eat over again."

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

STEVE'S ADVENTURE.

And all this time the object of so much solicitude was as eagerly on the
watch for help as his friends were ready to supply it.

When the idea struck him that it would be a capital thing to do to run
on forward to the foot of the coal cliff and start a fire ready for the
time when the sledge was laboriously dragged up, he did not pause to
consider whether it would be wise to separate himself from his friends,
but darted off at full speed, and in due time reached the spot. He
hurriedly built up a number of stones into a circle, and began to
collect dry, twiggy stuff to start the blaze, wishing the while that he
could see a fir wood with its ample supply of dead, turpentiny branches.
But the twigs were strong and promised to burn well, so he proceeded
next to collect the weather-worn fragments of coal, which had from time
to time crumbled down from above, rent away by the frost. These were
scattered here and there, many of them resembling stone; but he soon
obtained enough to begin with, and bore them to his rough fireplace,
over which he saw in imagination, as he worked, delicious steaks of deer
frizzling.

He had pressed the bushy scrub down hard to make it burn without flaring
away, glanced at the pieces of coal ready to hand, and now began to
search his pocket for the little brass box of matches he carried, when
as he knelt down there were footsteps behind him and a heavy breathing.

"That you, Watty?" he said, without looking round. "Bother the box!
Here, Watty, got any matches?" _Phoo_!

A deep-