om's supper.

"Is it going to be cold enough to put a crust on the snow?" Reade
eagerly demanded.

"If it keeps on growing cold we ought to have a good crust by
the day after tomorrow."

"I'll pray for it," said Tom fervently.

Next day the weather continued intensely cold. Jim Ferrers went
to another shack to construct a pair of skis. These are long,
wooden runners on which Norwegians travel with great speed over
hard snow. Jim was positive that he could make the skis and that
he could use them successfully.

Harry still remained weak and ill, caring nothing for food, though
his refusals to eat drove Reads well-nigh frantic.

The morning after the skis were made, Jim Ferrers, who had relieved
worn-out Tom at three in the morning, stepped to the young engineer's
bunk and shook him lightly.

"All right," said Reade, sitting up in bed. "I'll get up."

He was out of the bunk almost instantly.

"I'm going to send Tim Walsh in to help you a bit," Jim whispered.
"The crust is right this morning, and I'm off for Dugout. Before
we forget it give me that nugget."

Tom passed it over, saying solemnly:

"Remember, Jim, you've got to bring a doctor back with you---if
you have to do it at the point of a gun!"

"I'll bring one back with me, if there's one left in Dugout,"
Ferrers promised, fervently.

Fifteen minutes later Jim was on his way. Tim Walsh came in on
tip-toe, and seemed afraid to stir lest he make some slight sound
to disturb the sleeping sick lad.

"A day or two more will tell the tale, Tim," Tom whispered in
the big miner's ear.

"Oh, it isn't as bad as that, sir; it can't be," protested the big
fellow in a hoarse whisper. "I reckon Mr. Hazelton is going to get
well all right."

"He won't eat anything," said Tom.

"He will when he's hungry, sir."

"Tim, have you ever had any practice in looking after sick people?"

"Quite a bit, sir. When I was a younker I was private in the
hospital corps in the Army."

"Why on earth didn't you tell me that before?" Tom gasped.

"Why, because, sir, I allowed that a brainy young man like you
would know just what to do a heap better than I would."

"Tim, do you know anything about temperatures and drugs?"

"Maybe I'd remember a little bit," Walsh answered modestly. "It's
twelve years since I was in the Army."

Tom brought the medicine case with trembling hands.

"To think that, all the time," he muttered, "I've been longing
for a doctor's visi