"
Tom went back to his chair by the side of Harry's bunk.
Outdoors some of the men were clearing a path to the mine-shaft.
Not that it was worth while to try to do any work underground.
The rock at the tunnel heading was too stubborn to be moved by
anything less than dynamite.
"I'd get some lumber together, and make a pair of skis," suggested
Jim, the next day, "but what is the use? We'll have to have
twenty-four hours of freezing weather before we'll have a crust.
As soon as we can see snow that will bear a human being I'll start
for Dugout City."
"But not for dynamite," declared Tom.
"No; for a doctor, I suppose."
"A physician's visit is the only thing I'm interested in now,"
Tom declared, glancing at the bunk. "I'd give up any mine on
earth to be able to pull poor old Harry through."
On the fifth day, while the weather still remained too warm for
the forming of a snow-crust, Harry began to show signs of improvement.
He was gaunt and thin, but his skin felt less hot to the touch.
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