The dishes of the overnight meal were still on the table; the vacant chairs sprawled about it; and the rifle was in its place above the rude mantel; the picks and shovels awaited the toil of a new day.

All seemed as it had been when the director had closed the door upon it the previous night.
But then the blankets in the lower bunk were seen to heave and to be thrust back from the pale face of Merton Gill.

An elbow came into play, and the head was raised.

A gaze still vague with sleep travelled about the room in dull alarm.

He was waking up in his little room at the Patterson house and he couldn't make it look right.