Hazelton replied only with a nod, then broke into a sprint for the spot where the saddle animals were tethered.  Two minutes later Harry, though not a crack horseman, left camp at a gallop.

In Blaisdell’s tent matters dragged along.  Ice was needed, but none was to be had.  Cloths were wrung out in spring water and applied to the sick man’s head.  Within half an hour Tom received word that the acting chief was “out of his head.”

Later on Hazelton galloped back into camp bearing this despatch: 

“Reade, Engineer Corps.  Take charge of camp until Rutter returns.  Then turn over charge to him.  Rush for the nearest physician; engage him to remain at camp and look after Blaisdell.  I return tonight.  (Signed) Thurston, Chief Engineer.”

“Men,” called Tom striding over to the little party of rodmen, “tell me where the nearest physician is to be found.”

“Doe Jitney, at Bear’s Cave,” replied one of the men.

“How far is that?”

“Fourteen miles, by the trail.”

“Get on to a pony, then, and go after Dr. Gitney.  Bring him here and tell him we’ll want him here for the present.  Tell the doctor to bring all the medicines he’ll need, and both of you ride fast.”

“I’m not going on your orders,” retorted the man sullenly.

“Yes, you are,” Tom informed him promptly.  “I’m in charge, for the present, and acting under Mr. Thurston’s orders.  If you don’t go, you won’t eat any more in this camp, or draw any more pay here.  It’s work or jump for you—–­and discharge if you lose or waste any time on the way.  Mr. Blaisdell’s life is at stake.  Rustle!”

The man so ordered scowled, but he rose, went over and saddled a pony and rode out of camp.

“That part is attended to,” sighed Tom.  “Hang it, I wish we could get hold of some ice.  I don’t know much, but I do know that ice is needed in high fevers.  I wonder if anyone here knows where ice can be had?  By Jove, there’s Peter!  He knows more about this country than anyone else around here.”

It was now within an hour of the time when the engineer parties might be expected hack into camp.  Reade, however, was not of the sort to lose an hour needlessly.

Tom had just caught sight of Bad Pete as the latter stepped through a little gully an eighth of a mile below the trail and vanished into some green brush.

“I’ll run after him,” Tom decided.  “Pete wants a little money, and this will be a chance for him to earn it—–­if he can find some man to drive a load of ice to camp.”

Being a trained runner, Tom did not consume much time in nearing the spot where he had last seen Bad Pete.  The lad put two fingers up to his mouth, intending to whistle, when he heard a twig snap behind him.  Tom turned quickly, then, warned by some instinct, stepped noiselessly behind high brush.  The newcomer was ’Gene Black.

“Pete!” called Black softly.