Dick brought some more firewood.

In a short time they had it well heaped.
Then Dick poured coal oil over the whole, and Dan, with palsied fingers, made three attempts before he could open his match box and strike a match.

The temperature in the cabin must have been around zero, for it was twenty below outside that same morning.
At last the lighted match reached the oil soaked excelsior, but before it could ignite, the cold wind that was roaring down the chimney blew it out.
Dick was too cold to talk, but he made a dive for his cap, and held it in place over some of the excelsior, while shaking Dan miserably felt for another match.

This time the tiny flame caught in the excelsior.
"It's a g-g-g-g-go!" chattered Dick.
"M-m-m-me for b-b-b-b-bed!" chattered Dan, racing back to his bunk in the starting light of the fire and diving in under the blankets.
But Dick Prescott stuck at his post.

He saw the excelsior blaze briskly.
Then the flames licked at the oil over the logs.