"

Despite his great anxiety, Reade could not suppress the smile that
Jim's advice brought out. It was plain that Ferrers, good fellow
as he was, would be of no use on the medical end of the fight that
must be waged.

Tom searched the chest and found the medicines. Then he looked
up the doses and started to administer the remedies as directed.

Even over the steadily increasing gale the notes of the supper
horn reached them faintly.

"It's too tough weather to expect the cook to bring the stuff
over here tonight," said Jim. "So, if you can spare me, I'll
go and eat with the boys. Then I'll bring your chuck over to
you."

Alf came out of his corner, pulling on the ragged overcoat that
he had picked up in a trade with an undersized man down at the
Bright Hope Mine.

Left alone, Tom drew a stool up beside the bunk, and sat studying
his chum's face.

Twenty minutes later Hazelton opened his eyes.

"You're feeling better, now, aren't you?" asked Tom hopefully.

"I---I guess so," Harry muttered faintly.

"Where does it hurt you most, chum?"

"In---in my chest."

"Right lung!"

"Yes."

"Is the pain severe, Harry?"

"It's about all I can---can stand---old fellow."

"Poor chap. Don't try to talk, now. We're taking good care of
you, and we'll keep on the job day and night. You've had some
medicine, though you didn't know it. Now, try to sleep, if you
can."

But Hazelton couldn't sleep. He tossed restlessly, his face aflame
with fever.

Jim Ferrers came back with the supper, but Reade could eat very
little of it. Alf Drew did not return. He had made his peace with
the workmen.

Through the night Harry grew steadily worse. When daylight came
in, with the blizzard still raging, the young engineer was delirious.

CHAPTER XXI

THE WOLVES ON THE SNOW CRUST

The blizzard lasted for two days. Toward the end the temperature
rose, with the result that three feet of loose snow lay on top
of the harder packed snow underneath.

Harry Hazelton had passed out of the delirium, but he was weak,
and apparently sinking. He was conscious, though he spoke but
little, nor did poor Tom seek to induce him to talk.

By this time Reade knew the little medicine book by heart. He
also knew the label and dose of every drug in the case. But he
had not been able to improve upon his first selection of treatment.

"Do you think he's going to die, Jim?" Tom frequently asked.

"What's the use of a stro