The
three cut a supply of dry wood and piled what they could in the tilt,
placing the rest within reach of the door. Then armfuls of boughs were
broken for their bed. All the time the storm was increasing in power
and by nightfall a gale was blowing and a veritable blizzard raging.
When all was made secure, a good fire was started in the stove, a
candle lighted, and some partridges that had been killed in the
morning put over with a bit of pork to boil for supper. While these
were cooking Bill mixed some flour with water, using baking soda for
leaven--"risin'" he called it--into a dough which he formed into cakes
as large in circumference as the pan would accommodate and a quarter
of an inch thick. These cakes he fried in pork grease. This was the
sort of bread that they were to eat through the winter.
The meal was a cozy one. Outside the wind shrieked angrily and swirled
the snow in smothering clouds around the tilt, and rattled the
stovepipe, threatening to shake it down. It was very pleasant to be
out of it all in the snug, warm shack with the stove crackling
contentedly and the place filled with the mingled odours of the
steaming kettle of partridges and tea and spruce boughs. To the
hunters it seemed luxurious after their tedious fight against the
swift river.
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