Upon Mr. Dean’s suggestion, the morning was spent in tobogganing in wood while the snow was good.  It was great fun to see the great logs slide down with a long swish and pile up in front of the cabin.  The fellows worked with a will, and by noon a large supply had been pulled in.  The next thing was to cut it and pile it away in the house.  Smith undertook to build a sawbuck, and, with Mr. Allen’s help, the job was soon accomplished.  Every fellow then took his turn sawing off blocks until dinner time.

As they sat around the table enjoying a camp meal of fried ham, boiled rice, potatoes, rye bread, and coffee, a general discussion arose as to what the cabin should be named.  They hoped to get the big bed filled with balsam boughs that afternoon before they started home, then the place would be ready for real use on a big scale; and, of course, it must have a name.

“Let’s call it Snowbird Retreat,” suggested Fat naively.

“Not on your life!” called Smith good-naturedly.  “No snowbirds about this house; you want a good, warm, comfortable name.  I’d freeze to death, or maybe get scared, if you called it that.”

“St. Mary’s Inn,” suggested Ham.

“O fiddle, sounds like an old Spanish mission,” objected another.

“The House that Ham Built,” suggested Mr. Dean.

“Buffalo Roost,” suggested Willis.  “We certainly do love to roost around in here, and it’s in Buffalo Canyon.”  After a very heated discussion, Buffalo Roost was chosen for the name, and Willis set about gathering twigs to make a rustic sign for over the door.

The wood all in, the dinner dishes washed, and the cabin put in order, the next thing to do was to thatch the big bed.  O, what mountains of sweet-scented green boughs it took!  One party, under Mr. Dean, pulled in pile after pile of boughs from up on the snow-covered hillside, while the other party cut and trimmed and laid them in.  Choice large fans were laid in the bottom, the butts toward the foot, the bow of the branch uppermost.  Then a thick layer of fine sprigs to fill in every hollow.  Smith worked with a will, and enjoyed the day like he had no other since the work on the cabin had begun.

Never before had they so hated to leave the Roost, for every fellow was coming to love it and its companionship.  It gave plenty of healthful action, good things to think about, and warm friends.  It was building character and they did not know it.  It was fitting a choice group of older fellows to work together in the community life about them, working for the welfare and comfort of others, forgetting themselves in their unselfish service.

In the late afternoon it began to snow again, and by the time they were well on their way home it was falling fast.

“Getting in that wood was a wise stunt,” observed Smith, “for the next time we see the old Roost it will probably be snowbound.”

Old Ben had been watching for their return most of the afternoon.  As they came across the stream and up to the road below the inn, he called Mr. Allen to the door.