had grown
to be a practice with them not to trust themselves to talk at this
hour. The Colonel would give the signal to stop, simply by ceasing to
push the sled that the boy was wearily dragging. The Boy had invariably
been feeling (just as the Colonel had before, during his shift in
front) that the man behind wasn't helping all he might, whereupon
followed a vague, consciously unreasonable, but wholly irresistible
rage against the partner of his toil. But however much the man at the
back was supposed to spare himself, the man in front had never yet
failed to know when the impetus from behind was really removed.

The Boy sat now on the sled, silent, motionless, while the Colonel
felled and chopped and brought the wood. Then the Boy dragged himself
up, made the fire and the beef-tea. But still no word even after that
reviving cup--the usual signal for a few remarks and more social
relations to be established. Tonight no sound out of either. The
Colonel changed his footgear and the melted snow in the pot began to
boil noisily. But the Boy, who had again betaken himself to the sled,
didn't budge. No man who really knows the trail would have dared, under
the circumstances, to remind his pardner that it was now his business
to get up and fry the bacon. But presently, without looking up, the
hungry Colonel ventured:

"Get your dry things!"

"Feet aren't wet."

"Don't talk foolishness; here are your things." The Colonel flung in
the Boy's direction the usual change, two pairs of heavy socks, the
"German knitted" and "the felt."

"Not wet," repeated the Boy.

"You know you are."

"Could go through water in these mucklucks."

"I'm not saying the wet has come in from outside; but you know as well
as I do a man sweats like a horse on the trail."

Still the Boy sat there, with his head sunk between his shoulders.

"First rule o' this country is to keep your feet dry, or else
pneumonia, rheumatism--God knows what!"

"First rule o' this country is mind your own business, or else--God
knows what!"

The Colonel looked at the Boy a moment, and then turned his back. The
Boy glanced up conscience-stricken, but still only half alive, dulled
by the weight of a crushing weariness. The Colonel presently bent over
the fire and was about to lift off the turbulently boiling pot. The Boy
sprang to his feet, ready to shout, "You do your work, and keep your
hands off mine," but the Colonel turned just in time to say with
unusual g