Tom swung the door open and looked.
"Well?" he asked.
"What do you think of the sky?" Jim persisted.
"It looks as though we might have a little snow," Tom admitted.
"A little, and then a whole lot more," nodded Ferrers. "Notice
how still the air is? We're going to have a howling blizzard,
and I believe it will start in before night."
"Then we'd better turn the men out to fell and chop firewood,"
declared Harry, jumping up. "We haven't enough on hand to last
through a few days of blizzard."
"Will you look after the wood, Harry?" asked Tom. "I want to
keep my mind on getting to Dugout."
"We'll knock over a lot of trees between now and dinner-time,"
promised Hazelton, as he hurried away.
"Now, Reade, you'd better give up your idea of getting to Dugout
for the present," resumed Jim Ferrers.
"But the work? We've got to keep the men busy, and we must keep
the blasts a-going."
"You'll have to forget it for a week or so," insisted the Nevadan.
"Your freezing to death in a gale of snow wouldn't help matters any.
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