No one followed him to see that he reached the shack safely.

Any man in good health could do far more than perform that feat.
"Shut the door and bar it, please," chattered Dan Dalzell.

"Whew, but having that door open has made this place a cold storage plant!" "Fellows," spoke up Dick, "if this blizzard is to continue, we'll presently freeze to death in here unless we get more firewood while we can." "All right," grinned Dalzell.

"I've a suggestion, and it's a bully one.
We'll appoint Hen Dutcher a committee of one on the woodpile.

Go out and study your subject, Hen, and bring in your report--I mean, a cord of wood." "No, you don't!" protested Hen sullenly.
"Get on, now! Beat your way to the wood pile," ordered Tom Reade.
"No slang, please," mocked Dave.