Dan Dalzell. "Whew, but
having that door open has made this place a cold storage plant!"

"Fellows," spoke up Dick, "if this blizzard is to continue, we'll
presently freeze to death in here unless we get more firewood while we
can."

"All right," grinned Dalzell. "I've a suggestion, and it's a bully one.
We'll appoint Hen Dutcher a committee of one on the woodpile. Go out and
study your subject, Hen, and bring in your report--I mean, a cord of
wood."

"No, you don't!" protested Hen sullenly.

"Get on, now! Beat your way to the wood pile," ordered Tom Reade.

"No slang, please," mocked Dave. "How can a fellow who's going to work
hard beat his way, I'd like to know?"

"If you don't think you'd have to beat your way, to reach the wood pile
to-night," retorted Tom, "then just go out again and face the wind and
storm. Hen, are you going?"

"No, I'm not," snapped Dutcher.

"Then I'm a prophet," declared Reade solemnly. "I can see you and me
having trouble."

"I won't go," cried Hen, with an ugly leer. "I know what you want to
do. You want to drive me out to that shanty, so that big fellow will
jump on me. Go yourself, Mr. Tom Reade."

"It's too hard a storm for any one fellow to bring in the wood alone,"
interjected Dick. "I'll go, and so will Greg. Hen, you'll come with us."

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will," Dick informed him. "We've got to leave some of the
fellows here, to guard the doorway against Mr. Fits. We three will go
and attend to it all, and the rest of the fellows will stay right by the
door and see that Mr. Fits, who has been kind enough to go, stays gone.
Get on your coat, Greg, and you, too, Hen."

"I'll stay and help guard," proposed Dutcher.

"A bully guard you'd make," jeered Tom. "Into your coat--or else you'll
go without one."

Tom took hold of Hen by the collar, propelling him rapidly across the
cabin floor. Dick and Greg were slipping rapidly into coats, caps,
overshoes and mittens. Dick picked up the crowbar and Greg the lantern.
Hen Dutcher, making the gloomy discovery that it must be work or fight,
submitted sulkily.

"Don't hold the door open. Open it when we holler," was Dick's parting
direction.

"Whew!" muttered Greg, as they stepped outside. The wind blew in their
faces as they went around the end of the cabin, nearly taking their
breath, while the snow proved, even now, to be above their knees.

"We can do this in the morning just as well," cried Hen, panting in the
ef