"Any one been here, Jackpine?"
The old sledge-driver gave his head a negative shake and hunched his shoulders, pointing at the same time to the table, on which lay a carefully folded piece of paper.
"Thorne," he grunted.
Howland spread out the paper in the light of the lamp, and read:
"MY DEAR HOWLAND:
"I forgot to tell you that our mail sledge starts for Le Pas to-morrow at noon, and as I'm planning on going down with it I want you to get over as early as you can in the morning. Can put you on to everything in the camp between eight and twelve. THORNE."
A whistle of astonishment escaped Howland's lips.
"Where do you sleep, Jackpine?" he asked suddenly.
"Cabin in edge of woods," replied the Indian.
"How about breakfast? Thorne hasn't put me on to the grub line yet."