"It's too hard a storm for any one fellow to bring in the wood alone," interjected Dick. "I'll go, and so will Greg. Hen, you'll come with us."
"No, I won't."
"Yes, you will," Dick informed him. "We've got to leave some of the fellows here, to guard the doorway against Mr. Fits. We three will go and attend to it all, and the rest of the fellows will stay right by the door and see that Mr. Fits, who has been kind enough to go, stays gone. Get on your coat, Greg, and you, too, Hen."
"I'll stay and help guard," proposed Dutcher.
"A bully guard you'd make," jeered Tom. "Into your coat—or else you'll go without one."
Tom took hold of Hen by the collar, propelling him rapidly across the cabin floor. Dick and Greg were slipping rapidly into coats, caps, overshoes and mittens. Dick picked up the crowbar and Greg the lantern. Hen Dutcher, making the gloomy discovery that it must be work or fight, submitted sulkily.
"Don't hold the door open. Open it when we holler," was Dick's parting direction.
"Whew!" muttered Greg, as they stepped outside. The wind blew in their faces as they went around the end of the cabin, nearly taking their breath, while the snow proved, even now, to be above their knees.
"We can do this in the morning just as well," cried Hen, panting in the effort to make himself heard. "Let's go back."
"You try it, if you dare!" challenged Greg, waving the lantern in the other boy's face.