d the fellow sullenly. "Put that air
rifle down, and drop that bow and arrow."

"Get up and make us," advised Dick Prescott almost placidly. "Now, Mr.
Fits, I hope you realize that we're a few too many for you. As we
suggested some time ago, we're going to order you out of here--and at
once. And we're not going to take any fooling, either."

"But I can't go out," protested the big fellow. "Why, I'd be found
frozen to death in the blizzard."

"You won't have to go far," Dick informed him. "You of course know, as
well as we do, that there's a little cook shack at the rear of this
cabin. There's a stove there, some firewood and two barrels of coal.
Now, you're going there----"

"I won't."

"Yes, you are," Prescott asserted. "Unless you want us to beat you up
and simply throw you outside into a snowdrift."

"But I'm hungry," protested Mr. Fits. "Also, it's mighty cold lying
here."

"Stay right where you are," Dick went on sternly. "Hen, get this
fellow's overcoat and throw it on the floor near the door."

Dutcher obeyed, though he seemed to feel decidedly nervous about it.

"Now, Hen," continued the young leader, "go to the food supplies and
pick out two tins of corn beef. Got 'em? Also a loaf of bread. Put the
stuff on the coat."

This was done.

"Now, Mr. Fits," went on Dick more steadily still, "it would be unwise
for you to rise and walk to the door. We'd bother you if you did. But
you can crawl over to your coat. Start!"

"What are you trying to do with me?" appealed the recent bully, in a
voice that was now full of concern.

"Crawl over to your coat, and we'll tell you the rest of it. If you
don't obey, promptly, we'll take the food part away. Start--crawl!"

Mr. Fits obeyed. He appeared wholly to have lost his nerve, but Dick
wasn't so sure, for he ordered sharply:

"Watch out, fellows, that he doesn't play 'possum on us. We can't risk
that, you know."

Mr. Fits, however, by dint of crawling, reached his overcoat and the
food.

"Throw the door open, Dave," desired young Prescott. "Now, Mr. Fits,
rise, get your things and hustle around to the shack at the rear. Woe
unto you, if you try to turn and come back into this cabin! We won't
stand any more of you."

Like one beaten, and knowing it, Fits shambled out into the storm. No
one followed him to see that he reached the shack safely. Any man in
good health could do far more than perform that feat.

"Shut the door and bar it, please," chattered