Jackpine had half opened the door, and for a moment the engineer caught
a glimpse of his dark, grinning face looking back over his shoulder. He
hesitated, as if about to speak, and then with a mouthful of his
inimitable chuckles, he went out.

After bolting the door Howland lighted a small table lamp, entered the
sleeping room and prepared for bed.

"Got to have a little sleep no matter if things are going off like a
Fourth of July celebration," he grumbled, and rolled between the sheets.

In spite of his old habit of rising with the breaking of dawn it was
Jackpine who awakened him a few hours later. The camp was hardly astir
when he followed the Indian down among the log cabins to Thorne's
quarters. The senior engineer was already dressed.

"Sorry to hustle you so, Howland," he greeted, "but I've got to go down
with the mail. Just between you and me I don't believe the camp doctor
is much on his job. I've got a deuced bad shoulder and a worse arm, and
I'm going down to a good surgeon as fast as I can."

"Didn't they send Weston up with you?" asked Howland. He knew that
Weston was the best "accident man" in the company's employ.

"Yes--Weston," replied the senior, eying him sharply. "I don't mean to
say he's not a good man, Howland," he amended quickly. "But he doesn't
quite seem to take hold of this hurt of mine. By the way, I looked over
our pay-roll and there is no Croisset on it."