ee brought his dogs to a halt
close to a large log-built cabin half sheltered among the trees. It was
situated several hundred yards from the nearest of the lights ahead, and
the unbroken snow about it showed that it had not been used as a
habitation for some time. Jackpine drew a key from his pocket and
without a word unlocked and swung open the heavy door.

Damp, cold air swept into the faces of the two as they stood for a
moment peering into the gloom. Howland could hear the Cree chuckling in
his inimitable way as he struck a match, and as a big hanging oil lamp
flared slowly into light he turned a grinning face to the engineer.

"Gregson um Thorne--heem mak' thees cabin when first kam to camp," he
said softly. "No be near much noise--fine place in woods where be quiet
nights. Live here time--then Gregson um Thorne go live in camp. Say too
far 'way from man. But that not so. Thorne 'fraid--Gregson 'fraid--"

He hunched his shoulders again as he opened the door of the big box
stove which stood in the room.

Howland asked no questions, but stared about him. Everywhere he saw
evidences of the taste and one-time tenancies of the two senior
engineers. Heavy bear rugs lay on the board floor; the log walls, hewn
almost to polished smoothness, were hung with half a dozen pictures; in
one corner was a bookcase still filled with books, in another a lounge
covered with furs, and in this side of the room was a door which Howland
supposed must open into the sleeping apartment. A fire was roaring in
the big stove before he finished his inspection and as he squared his
shivering back to the heat he pulled out his pipe and smiled cheerfully
at Jackpine.

"Afraid, eh? And am I to stay here?"

"Gregson um Thorne say yes."

"Well, Jackpine, you just hustle over to the camp and tell Thorne I'm
here, will you?"

For a moment the Indian hesitated, then went out and closed the door
after him.

"Afraid!" exclaimed Howland when he had gone. "Now what the devil are
they afraid of? It's deuced queer, Gregson--and ditto, Thorne. If you're
not the cowards I'm half believing you to be you won't leave me in the
dark to face something from which you are running away."

He lighted a small lamp and opened the door leading into the other room.
It was, as he had surmised, the sleeping chamber. The bed, a single
chair and a mirror and stand were its sole furnishing.

Returning to the larger room, he threw off his coat and hat and seated
hi