HEN the chatter had ceased and the fellows were all dropping off to sleep, the interior of the tight old log cabin was still aglow from the light of the fire. That light was so bright that, one after another, the boys turned over, their faces to the wall.
And then no sound was heard, save the weird howling of the wind outside, with an occasional sputter as a stray gust of snow swept down the broad chimney to the roaring fire. Every Grammar School boy, as he dropped off to sleep, knew that a big blizzard was still in progress.
"I wonder if I'll sleep a wink, for thinking of Mr. Fits, and what he may try to do to us in the night," thought Dan Dalzell, while his lids fell heavily. "If I do sleep, it will be to wake every little while with a start. Well, so much the better. If I wake often I'm likely to hear the scoundrel if he starts anything around here—when he—thinks—we're—so drowsy that we're dead to the world—and—gullup!"
That last exclamation was a snore. Dan was conscious of waking once, though at what time he did not know. He noted that the fire seemed to have burned very low, and that it was almost wholly dark within the cabin. Then he dozed. When he awoke once more he could see no glow whatever from the fire. The lantern that had been left lighted had flickered out. Dan felt oppressed by a sense of something awesome.
"What on earth can the time be?" Dan wondered, now quite wide awake and just slightly uneasy. As he peered about through the dark he made out what looked very much like a narrow ray of daylight through a crack in one of the closed shutters.
"It can't be morning," muttered Dan. "And yet—why is the fire out? We left a bully one going."
Dan had thrown his jacket on to the bunk before retiring. Now, he sat up, reaching for the jacket.
"Gracious but it's cold!" gasped Dan, as the chill struck him.
"Shut up!" growled Dave Darrin's drowsy voice. "Don't wake everybody."
"What's the matter?" chimed in Dick Prescott sleepily.