Sam had found his bunk-bed of spruce boughs amazingly comfortable and, snuggling under the blankets, had promptly dropped asleep. He was healthily tired from his day’s travels; it was odd, therefore, that distressing dreams came to disturb his rest. He began to toss and turn, and writhe and groan. A giant’s hand, clutching at his throat, seemed to be about to strangle him. There was a crushing weight upon his chest; a trip-hammer was beating furiously in his head. Then some vague monster had seized him, and was bearing him away with appalling speed.

The boy cried out in terror, and struggled desperately. Of a sudden he was free of the monster’s grasp; he was falling from a dizzy height, and about to be dashed to pieces. And then, just as destruction impended, the dream passed, and he awoke to a reality sufficiently perilous.

He was lying, half in, half out of the bunk. The camp was full of smoke, dense, acrid, stifling. His eyes smarted and his throat was parched and burning. At his side lay Poke, breathing stertorously. Sam made him out by a flickering light, which came from the direction of the cook’s quarters. Beyond him was Step, raised on an elbow and coughing chokingly.

“Fire! Fire!” A startled voice raised the alarm, and others repeated the cry. Men began to stagger by him, stumbling as they went and groping wildly. Then three or four, led by Mr. Kane, charged the other way. The boss was shouting orders. There was the crash of an axe vigorously plied. The glass fell from a shattered window, and a draft of cool air fanned his face.

Sam, fully awake at last, sprang from the bunk. Step, too, had gained the floor. Between them they dragged Poke from his blankets, and put him on his feet.

“Take him out, Step!” Sam directed, and set himself to the task of rousing the Trojan, who appeared to be in the half unconscious condition in which Poke was. The Shark, having very calmly adjusted his spectacles on his nose, was tugging at Herman Boyd’s shoulder. Sam lent a hand, and with his aid Herman was started for the door.

Tom Orkney overtook them. He was breathing with difficulty, but managed to gasp out that the ell was all ablaze. Then came the foreman and a lumberjack, carrying a helpless form.

“Cook—right where smudge was thickest—overcome,” Tom explained hoarsely.

Through the doorway they pressed into the cold, still air of the starless night. Mr. Kane touched Sam’s arm.

“All your crowd out? Good! Keep ’em out till we get the fire under. ’Twon’t be long, what with unseasoned logs and the snow on the roof.”

Then he was dashing back into the camp, and shouting orders to his men. Tom Orkney bent over the cook, who was lying in the snow.

“He’s coming ’round all right,” he reported. “We’ll bring out some blankets——”

Sam and Step rushed into the camp, and emerged with their arms filled with heavy coverings. Tom made use of two, while the others were distributed among the boys. Luckily they had turned in “all standing” and were fully clothed except for their shoes, which Step recovered by a second trip into the building.

“Lon’s safe—saw him in there,” said he. “When he heard we were all right he stayed to help fight the fire. Gee, but the kitchen’s a furnace!”

“I know—I saw it, and I don’t understand it,” Orkney declared. “There was some grease about, of course—can’t help that with all the frying. Still, the way the blaze ran——”

There he checked himself. “You mean you suspect——?” queried Step.

“I mean it spread mighty fast,” said Orkney drily.

“Think it caught from the stove, don’t you?”

“Huh! Cook’s a very careful man.”

A bucket brigade was forming to bring water from a hole chopped in the ice of the stream, and the boys volunteered their services. Somebody had found a ladder, and now the fire was being attacked from the roof as well as below. Mr. Kane had plenty of men, and employed them skilfully, though, of course, his equipment was limited. The roof of the ell fell in, and for a few minutes flames shot through the opening thus left, but their inroads upon the main camp were quickly checked, the heavy logs of the walls, the snow, and the lack of wind all contributing to the result. In half an hour the fire was under control, and in another Mr. Kane officially declared it out.

Two or three men were told off to build a new partition, temporarily filling the gap caused by the fire, and the rest of the crew and the boys gathered about the big stove in the main camp. Garments drenched in the bucket brigade service were hung up to dry; the cook, now quite recovered, brewed a great can of steaming tea. Then there was a sort of informal roll call. None of the boys appeared to be the worse for his adventures, and the lumberjacks seemed to find the break in the monotony of life rather enjoyable. But the foreman, “counting noses,” as he put it, made a startling discovery.

Peter Groche was missing!

Nobody could recall seeing the man after the alarm was given. Anxious search of the ruins of the ell, conducted by the aid of lanterns, revealed no charred evidences that he had perished. It led, however, to the discovery of a half-burned cloth, smoked and discolored, and giving forth the unmistakable smell of kerosene.

The cook rushed out of the camp, returning presently with a five-gallon can.

“See this!” he cried excitedly. “And this!” He held the can upside down, but no stream poured from its open neck. “Nigh full ’twas yesterday, and now it’s dry as a bone! That’s why the fire went through my place in jumps. He must ’a’ sneaked in and soused everything with the stuff after I went to sleep.”

“Huh! He might ’a’ done it with a waterin’ cart for all you’d knowed it, once you got to snorin’!” jeered one of the choppers.

The cook hotly insisted that he had full right to sleep soundly after feeding a “gang of two-legged wolves,” but the foreman stopped the controversy.

“Steady there, all around!” he commanded. “This is a crazy job, but it’s a bad job and a state’s prison job. But sure’s my name’s Kane, I’ll land the scoundrel that done it!” He glanced at his watch. “It’ll be gettin’ light in half an hour. Dayton and ‘Stub’ Cyr, I want ye!”

Two of the men—stout fellows both—stepped forward.

“You take after Groche. You know the woods. He’ll have left a trail——”

From the background somebody spoke. “My snow-shoes are gone. He’s stole ’em!”

“Like enough! And that’ll mean Groche won’t stick to the tote road. He’ll strike out ’cross country—Canady way, mebbe.”

Lon pushed to the front. “See here!” said he. “Let me in on this, will you? Guess I’ll toddle along with your two.”

“Eh?” said Mr. Kane in surprise.

Lon’s expression was determined. “Sure’s I’m risin’ two-year old, this is my party, as you might be sayin’. I got a sorter runnin’ account with that critter. And I can tell you this: he wa’n’t aimin’ to singe your hair, Mr. Kane, so much as he was layin’ for me and some other folks. I oughter tackled him last night, but I didn’t; and now I’ve got all the more reason for tacklin’ him good and plenty. And I’m makin’ no brags, but if I lay paws on him, I’ll bring him in, and don’t you forget it! So, if you’ll jest fit me out with snow-shoes and one or two other trinkets, I’ll be a heap obleeged to you.”

The foreman inclined his head. “All right—jest as ye say, Gates. ’Nother pair o’ long legs like yourn won’t do no harm to the hunt. We’ll outfit ye.”

Lon crossed to Sam.

“You see how ’tis,” he said, lowering his voice. “I jest plain got a call for this job. Your father’d say ’twas all right if he was here. But if I take my eye off you for a while, Sam, you’ve got to give me your word you’ll keep out o’ mischief and keep the rest out of it. I guess you can do it—you’ve been toein’ the mark like a major lately.”

Sam’s eyes twinkled. “Like Major Bates, for instance?”

“Yep—seein’ as how he’s the only real, blown-in-the-bottle major I know. And that reminds me: this trip I’ll be a genooine Shylock Holmes.”

“Sherlock Holmes,” Sam corrected.

“No,” Lon insisted; “Shylock’s better. Chap, wa’n’t he, that stood out for his pound o’ flesh? Well, that’s me—only I’m goin’ to bring in nigher two hundred. And I’m goin’ to bring it in on the hoof—Peter Groche’s hoof, at that!”

So matters were arranged. As soon as the light strengthened sufficiently, Lon and Stub Cyr and Dayton set out. Meanwhile, the cook had contrived breakfast. The bill of fare was that of supper, but Sam observed that the tin plates were not heaped so lavishly. And, observing, he was stricken by doubts.

At the first opportunity he drew Mr. Kane aside.

“I wish you’d tell me something,” he said. “The fire has left you short of supplies, hasn’t it?”

“Wal, kinder,” the boss admitted. “Most of the grub, ye see, was stored in the ell. But ye needn’t worry; we won’t starve. I’ve started a team for Coreytown for supplies. It ought to be back by night.”

Sam meditated for a moment. “Look here, Mr. Kane! We’re half a dozen extra mouths to feed, and we can’t help being more or less in your way. And there isn’t any reason why we should stay. All of us brought our snow-shoes, and it’ll be just as much sport—yes, more—to be marching out on them as to be tramping about the camp. Father’ll understand. With the early start we’ll make, we can reach Coreytown long before dark. It isn’t over a dozen miles——”

“Call it fifteen.”

“Well, fifteen, then. It’ll be bully fun for us.”

It was the foreman’s turn to deliberate. “Wal, I dunno. Hate like time to be seemin’ to throw ye out! Only we can’t make ye extry comfortable, mussed up the way we be. And goin’ out would be safe enough. Track’s plain, and the road’s broke. I dunno, I dunno.”

“I think we’d better not stay, sir.”

“Wal, suit yerself, of course. There’s kinder a feel o’ more weather in the air, but likely’s not it’ll hold off a spell. And the road’s in good shape. Then, too, there’s the short cut. If ye knew the lay of the land it’d save you a lot o’ distance. The road’s the long way ’round, ye know—makes jest about a right-angle.”

The Shark and Step, who had come up, overheard this.

“You mean, then,” queried the former, “that we could lessen effort by taking the hypothenuse?”

The foreman smiled. “Or words to that effect, sonny.”

“I comprehend the proposition perfectly,” the Shark solemnly assured him. “It may be regarded as elementary.”

“I’m for the march,” Step declared. “Say, it’ll beat old Xenophon’s Anabasis to a frazzle!”

“I’m for anything that’ll do that!” cried Poke, who had joined the group. “Enteuthen exelaunei on snow-shoes, by Jiminy!”

“Umph! Never did get the hang o’ French myself,” quoth the boss. “But you fellers’d better talk over things in plain English. Then let me know what ye decide on.”

Herman Boyd, called to the conference, added his vote to those of his friends. Tramping out on snow-shoes would be the greatest kind of a lark. The Trojan was of the same opinion.

Tom Orkney and Mr. Kane were in consultation in a corner. When the foreman moved off, Sam joined Orkney.

“The boys are unanimously for tramping down to the settlements,” said he.

“I know. The boss told me how you felt,” Tom answered.

“Seems wisest. Grub’s short here, and the trip will be easy. Lon can come out when he’s ready. Most likely my father will pick him up.”

“Yes.”

There was a pause, not free from embarrassment.

“I—I hope you’ve been thinking things over,” Sam ventured. “You said you would, you know.”

“I have thought them over,” said Orkney stolidly.

“You’ll come with us?”

Orkney hesitated. “I—I—well, I’ve laid the facts before Mr. Kane. And he—he’s a mighty square man, Parker!”

“He’ll release you? And you’ll come?”

“Yes,” said Orkney very soberly; “yes, I’ll come.”