At the sound of his voice the woman peered at him with quick
curiousness.

"Get your things off," her companion said to her. "I'll unhitch
and get the water so we can start cooking."

Messner took the thawed salmon outside and fed his dogs. He had to
guard them against the second team of dogs, and when he had
re‰ntered the cabin the other man had unpacked the sled and fetched
water. Messner's pot was boiling. He threw in the coffee, settled
it with half a cup of cold water, and took the pot from the stove.
He thawed some sour-dough biscuits in the oven, at the same time
heating a pot of beans he had boiled the night before and that had
ridden frozen on the sled all morning.

Removing his utensils from the stove, so as to give the newcomers a
chance to cook, he proceeded to take his meal from the top of his
grub-box, himself sitting on his bed-roll. Between mouthfuls he
talked trail and dogs with the man, who, with head over the stove,
was thawing the ice from his mustache. There were two bunks in the
cabin, and into one of them, when he had cleared his lip, the
stranger tossed his bed-roll.

"We'll sleep here," he said, "unless you prefer this bunk. You're
the first comer and you have first choice, you know."

"That's all right," Messner answered. "One bunk's just as good as
the other."

He spread his own bedding in the second bunk, and sat down on the