nking that if we only had some
of your formaldehyde fumigator we could get them under control very
easily."

"So we could. A can of that stuff let through the roof would put them
into a dead stupor without waking them. The only risk would be that of
killing them all outright. There was a can of it left, too, but it's
in the cabin."

"No, it isn't!" cried Fred. "I put it outside in a hollow tree, so as
not to have the stuff in the house. I could get it in ten minutes."

"Fred, you're a diamond yourself!" Peter exclaimed. "If it's as you
say, we'll have them out of that cabin in a jiffy."

"Shall we try it to-night?" Maurice asked.

"Why not? It's nearly midnight, and they must be asleep," said Horace.
"I've no fancy for spending another night and day shivering here in the
snow. Besides, we're out of grub."

After some consultation, they put on their snowshoes and tramped off
toward the cabin. It was intensely cold, and very still and clear; a
brilliant moon had come up over the pines.

Fred easily found the hollow tree in which he had hidden the
disinfectant, and came back with the apparatus. There was an unopened
tin of formaldehyde complete with its little lamp almost full of spirit.

For some time they reconnoitered the cabin cautiously. A faint glow
shone through the skin window, but no sound either of man or dog could
be heard within.

It would not be possible to introduce the fumigator through the door or
window, and if it were lowered down the chimney, the draft would carry
the gas out again. But Maurice recollected the hole he had patched in
the roof; it could easily be opened again. He volunteered to set the
"smoker" going.

This was really the most dangerous part of the undertaking, for a
slight sound might bring out the ruffians, who would probably shoot
without much hesitation. Maurice took off his snowshoes, and carrying
the fumigator, plunged through the drifts toward the cabin.

Twenty yards away the party watched him from the thickets; Horace kept
the door covered with his rifle. The snow had drifted so deep that
Maurice climbed easily to the roof, crawled up the slope on hands and
knees, groped about, and began to scrape away the snow.

A moment later, he drew out the deer-hide patch, peered down the hole,
and then waved his hand reassuringly toward the woods. He struck a
match, lighted the spirit lamp, and then lowered the can cautiously by
a string about a yard long.

I