Young Van glanced up at his chief, then answered quietly: “To bed, I think. I heard him say he was going to turn in early to-night.”
“Would you mind stirring him out?”
“Certainly not.”
“Wait a minute. We have enough firewood on hand to keep the engines going six or perhaps eight days. That won’t do.”
Young Van was slightly puzzled.
“Go ahead, Gus. Tell him to meet me at his instrument in ten minutes.”
Young Van left the tent at once. When he returned, after rousing the sleepy operator, he observed that the chief was still deep in thought. “All right,” said Young Van; “he’s getting up.”
“Much obliged, Gus.” Carhart started to resume his mending, then lowered his needle. “And all for the want of a horseshoe nail,” he hummed softly.
Young Van, more puzzled than before, looked up from a heap of papers which had drawn his attention. Carhart smiled a little.
“You remember?” he said,—