After bolting the door Howland lighted a small table lamp, entered the sleeping room and prepared for bed.

“Got to have a little sleep no matter if things are going off like a Fourth of July celebration,” he grumbled, and rolled between the sheets.

In spite of his old habit of rising with the breaking of dawn it was Jackpine who awakened him a few hours later.  The camp was hardly astir when he followed the Indian down among the log cabins to Thorne’s quarters.  The senior engineer was already dressed.

“Sorry to hustle you so, Howland,” he greeted, “but I’ve got to go down with the mail.  Just between you and me I don’t believe the camp doctor is much on his job.  I’ve got a deuced bad shoulder and a worse arm, and I’m going down to a good surgeon as fast as I can.”

“Didn’t they send Weston up with you?” asked Howland.  He knew that Weston was the best “accident man” in the company’s employ.

“Yes—­Weston,” replied the senior, eying him sharply.  “I don’t mean to say he’s not a good man, Howland,” he amended quickly.  “But he doesn’t quite seem to take hold of this hurt of mine.  By the way, I looked over our pay-roll and there is no Croisset on it.”

For an hour after breakfast the two men were busy with papers, maps and drawings relative to the camp work.  Howland had kept in close touch with operations from Chicago and by the time they were ready to leave for outside inspection he was confident that he could take hold without the personal assistance of either Gregson or Thorne.  Before that hour had passed he was certain of at least one other thing—­that it was not incompetency that was taking the two senior engineers back to the home office.  He had half expected to find the working-end in the same disorganized condition as its chiefs.  But if Gregson and Thorne had been laboring under a tremendous strain of some kind it was not reflected in the company’s work, as shown in the office records which the latter had spread out before him.

“That’s a big six months’ work,” said Thorne when they had finished.  “Good Lord, man, when we first came up here a jack-rabbit couldn’t hop through this place where you’re sitting, and now see what we’ve got!  Fifty cabins, four mess-halls, two of the biggest warehouses north of Winnipeg, a post-office, a hospital, three blacksmith shops and—­a ship-yard!”

“A ship-yard!” exclaimed Howland in genuine surprise.

“Sure, with a fifty-ton ship half built and frozen stiff in the ice.  You can finish her in the spring and you’ll find her mighty useful for bringing supplies from the head of the Wekusko.  We’re using horses on the ice now.  Had a deuced hard time in getting fifty of ’em up from Le Pas.  And besides all this, we’ve got six miles of road-bed built to the south and three to the north.  We’ve got a sub-camp at each working-end, but most of the men still prefer to come in at night.”  He dragged himself slowly and painfully to his feet as a knock sounded at the door.  “That’s MacDonald, our camp superintendent,” he explained.  “Told him to be here at eight.  He’s a corker for taking hold of things.”