“Say, it ain’t as bad as that.  We’ve got a lot to be thankful for, I reckon, with this bully old boat to hold us, and keep out the cold.  For one you don’t hear me kicking,” returned Thad, earnestly.

“Oh! come off; you know mighty well that I’m the last boy to run up the white flag.  Everything’s lovely, and the goose hangs high; anyhow, it will later on if I get a crack at one on a sandbar further down the river.  But what do you think of the prospects for clearing?” went on Maurice, turning to his chum.

“Not good for anything today.  P’raps the old storm will blow itself out tonight, and in the morning we may drop out of here.

“Oh! well, it’s too late now to think of going on today, so after all it don’t matter much We can pull some more wood on board before night, and laugh at the cold,” remarked Maurice.

“Perhaps we’d better be doing it right away, then,” observed Thad, with a glance at the west; “for dark comes sudden like at this time of year, you know.”

“All right.  Get the ax and I’ll see to the gun, Thad.”

“Thinking of more dogs, eh?”

“Well, no; to tell the truth I had the master of one dog in my mind right then,” came the reply, as Maurice entered the cabin to take the Marlin off the hook on the wall.

Thad looked a bit thoughtful, but said nothing.

Perhaps they were not so very far away from some shanty-boat that had sought refuge in a friendly cove from the gale; and he knew the general habit of these floating people was to harbor at least one dog to each craft, sometimes half a dozen.

That gun might come in handy should they find themselves confronted by an angry dog owner, demanding the reason why they had shot his canine property.

So they left their home craft, and paddled ashore in the little tender, one at a time.

The ax was soon at work, and the chips flying under the lusty strokes of both boys by turns.

Thad had been more or less impressed by what his chum said.  While Maurice worked with the ax he managed to sit by the fire they had started, seemingly to keep warm, but in reality because the shotgun had been leaned against a neighboring tree.

And ordinarily Thad was far from being timid by nature; so that it must have been some sort of prophetic warning that bade him stick to the camp.

“Guess we’ve got about enough, eh, Thad?” demanded the other, as he threw the tool down, and breathing heavily, sat alongside his chum on the convenient log near the blaze.

“As much as we can get aboard, anyhow.  With night only an hour off the quicker we begin to navigate the better for us.  Here goes,” and with that Thad started to carry the chopped wood down to where the small boat awaited its cargo.

They were busily engaged in doing this, and had really managed to get most of the fuel aboard, with Maurice pulling from the deck of the anchored craft, and his chum doing the work ashore, when Thad heard crunching footsteps above the spot where he crouched.