That very morning as soon as breakfast was over Mr. Sinclair left for the scenes of his lumbering operations, about fifty miles from the city.  He travelled with a horse and sleigh, and on the second day he reached Camp Number Two shortly after the men had finished their mid-day meal and were starting back to their work.  No sooner had Sinclair entered the cabin than his eyes fell upon a man lying in one of the bunks.

“Hello, Stevens,” he called to the foreman, “who is this taking life so easy, when the rest of us are struggling for our daily bread?”

“Oh, that is Robins, one of our best men,” was the reply.  “He took sick this morning, and I would have sent him to the shore at once only to-morrow will be Christmas Day and I thought he could wait until to-night when the teams will be going out, and——­”

“Going out!  Going out, are they?” Sinclair interrupted.  “And who gave orders to quit on Christmas Day, I’d like to know?”

“We always quit on that day, sir,” Stevens stammered.  “It’s been the custom for years, and I took it for granted——­”

“Yes, that’s just the trouble.  You take too many things for granted.  But I tell you this, Christmas is all nonsense.  It breaks up the work, and the hauling season is none too long at the best.  I’ll have none of it.  You’ll work or quit, and that’s the end of it.”

“But what about Robins?” questioned the foreman, whose thoughts were travelling away to a little group of bright faces anxiously awaiting his home-coming for a jolly Christmas.

“Isn’t there any spare team?” Sinclair asked.

“None to spare, sir.  We’ve only the bob-sleds, and they’re not much for a sick man to ride on.  But,” he added after a pause, “we were going to fix up something to-night, sir.”

“Confound it all!” Sinclair exclaimed.  “What are we going to do?  I can’t afford to let a double team go, and besides, it would mean a loss of two days.  Let me see.  How far is it to Camp Number Three?”

“Three miles if you go by way of the cut-off, but four if you go around.  The cut-off hasn’t been used much by the teams this winter, and it is little more than a foot-path.”

“How far is it to the cut-off?” Sinclair asked.

“About two miles.”

“Well, look here, Stevens.  You drive me to that cut-off, and then get some one to take that sick fellow out with my rig.  I’ll walk the rest of the way to the camp, and stay there till you come for me.”

When the cut-off had been reached, Sinclair started off on a brisk walk in the keen frosty air.  He even felt quite young and cheerful as he moved forward.  But the trail was rough, and his coat was very heavy, so after walking for some time he began to feel weary.

“This is a long trail,” he muttered.  “Confound that sick man!  What business had he getting laid up and causing all this trouble.”

Hardly had the words left his mouth before his foot struck the stump of a small tree, and with a cry of pain he sank upon the snow.  Recovering himself he tried to walk, but so great was the agony when his right foot touched the trail that he groaned aloud.