"Is the pain severe, Harry?"
"It's about all I can—-can stand—-old fellow."
"Poor chap. Don't try to talk, now. We're taking good care of you, and we'll keep on the job day and night. You've had some medicine, though you didn't know it. Now, try to sleep, if you can."
But Hazelton couldn't sleep. He tossed restlessly, his face aflame with fever.
Jim Ferrers came back with the supper, but Reade could eat very little of it. Alf Drew did not return. He had made his peace with the workmen.
Through the night Harry grew steadily worse. When daylight came in, with the blizzard still raging, the young engineer was delirious.
CHAPTER XXI
THE WOLVES ON THE SNOW CRUST
The blizzard lasted for two days. Toward the end the temperature rose, with the result that three feet of loose snow lay on top of the harder packed snow underneath.
Harry Hazelton had passed out of the delirium, but he was weak, and apparently sinking. He was conscious, though he spoke but little, nor did poor Tom seek to induce him to talk.