An hour before dawn the wind came, hurtling down through the mountains and moaning along the valleys; before it drove the flying snow in great chilly sheets, as it was lifted from the high places and spread in every nook that would warrant its safe-keeping.
Through its fitful gusts Genesee walked into camp, his tracks filled by the eager flakes as he left them. There seemed a strange alertness about the place, for so early an hour—even through the commotion, blissful and despairing, in his own breast, he noticed it as the guard hailed him, and when he replied, he heard from that individual an excited exclamation of astonishment.
"By jolly, if it ain't Genesee!"
"I reckon it is," he answered, and passed on, too tired, yet elated by his night's work, to care whether or not his absence had been commented on.
The door of the shack had barely closed on him when one of the several lanterns that he had noticed floating like stars along the snow stopped at his door, then a knock, and the entrance of a very wide-awake looking corporal.
"You are to report to Captain Holt at once," was the message he brought.
"What's up?" and the boot that was half-way off was yanked on again.
"That's all the message I was given."
"The hell you say! Well, trot along."
His own frowning perplexity was no more decided than that of Captain Holt, as he looked up to notice the entrance of the scout—and there was little of friendliness in the look.