A smaller cake drove against the out-jutting corner-logs and the cabin reeled.

Courbertin and Jacob Welse were inside.
"After you," Frona heard the baron, and then her father's short amused laugh; and the gallant Frenchman came out last, squeezing his way between the cake and the logs.
"Say, Bill, if that there lower jam holds, we're goners;" the man with the canister called to his partner.
"Ay, that it will," came the answer.

"Below Nulato I saw Bixbie Island swept clean as my old mother's kitchen floor." The men came hastily together about Frona.
"This won't do.

We've got to carry them over to your shack, Corliss." As he spoke, Jacob Welse clambered nimbly up the cabin and gazed down at the big barrier.

"Where's McPherson ?" he asked.
"Petrified astride the ridge-pole this last hour." Jacob Welse waved his arm.