"We'd better roll in in the men's camp," suggested Connie, as they reached the clearing. A little square of light from the office window showed dimly through the whirling snow, and, approaching noiselessly, the two peeked in. Mounded blankets covered the sleeping forms of the doctor and Lon Camden; Hurley's bandaged head was visible upon his coarse pillow, and beside him sat Steve, wide awake, with the bottles of medicine within easy reach.
"Half past one!" exclaimed Saginaw, glancing at the little clock. "By jiminetty, kid, it's time we was to bed!"
[CHAPTER XII]
SHADING THE CUT
IT was nine o'clock the following morning when Connie was awakened by someone bending over him. It was Saginaw, and the boy noticed that his cap and mackinaw were powdered with snow.
"Still snowing, eh? Why didn't you wake me up before?"
"It's 'bout quit, an' as fer wakin' you up," he grinned, "I didn't hardly dast to. If I was the owner of an outfit an' any doggone lumberjack woke me up 'fore I was good an' ready I'd fire him."
"Oh, you want to see my papers, do you?" grinned Connie.
"Well, I might take a squint at 'em. But that ain't what I come fer. The boss is a whole lot better, an' the doctor's a-goin' back. What I want to know is, why can't he swear out them warrants ag'in them three I. W. W.'s an' have it over with? I didn't say nothin' to Hurley 'bout them bein' located, er he'd of riz up an' be'n half ways to Willer River by now."