When he reached for a firebrand to light it Dick noticed what he was
doing and asked good naturedly,--

"Think t' smoke with us, eh?"

"Yes, thinks I'll try un."

"An' be gettin' sick before un knows it," volunteered Bill.

Disregarding the suggestion Bob fired his pipe and lay back with the
air of an old veteran. He soon found that he did not like it very
much, and in a little while he felt a queer sensation in his stomach,
but it was not in Bob's nature to acknowledge himself beaten so
easily, and he puffed on doggedly. Pretty soon beads of perspiration
stood out upon his forehead and he grew white. Then he quietly laid
aside the pipe and groped his way unsteadily out of doors, for he was
very dizzy and faint. When he finally returned he was too sick to pay
any attention to the banter of his companions, who unsympathetically
made fun of him, and he lay down with the inward belief that smoking
was not the pleasure it was said to be, and as for himself he would
never touch a pipe again.

All day Sunday and Monday the storm blew with unabated fury and the
three were held close prisoners in the tilt. On Monday night it
cleared, and Tuesday morning came clear and rasping cold.

Long before daylight breakfast was eaten and preparations made for
travelling. Bob lashed his tent, cooking utensils, some traps and a
supply of provisions upon one of two toboggans that leaned against the
tilt outside. The other one was for Bill when he should need it. Dick