Presently their course led downward, and Henry stopped in one of the sheltered depressions.
"Now we'll make our fire," he said.
It was pitchy black where they stood.

The walls of the hollow rose far above their heads, and its crest was lined on every side with giant trees and dense undergrowth.
The two boys dragged up dead leaves and brushwood, and Henry patiently ignited the heap with his flint and steel.

A tiny blaze arose, but he did not permit it to grow into a flame.

Heavier logs were placed upon the top, and the fire only burned beneath, amid the small boughs.

Smoke arose, but it was lost in the black heavens.