It was a gloomy line that worked its way up the snow-filled canyon that night.  Minutes seemed like hours, and already the cold winds were making every fellow weak and hungry.  Ham was the life of the party, and kept the fellows hopeful at his end of the line, even when he was so tired from breaking trail that it seemed that he could not go another pace.  Willis was behind him, ready to lend a hand whenever he tripped on treacherously-covered poles or slipped from the trail into the icy stream.  At last the little belt of thick timber was reached, and Ham’s heart rejoiced, for he knew the cabin was on the other side of it.  Before long they stood on the high trail and looked down into the valley where stood the cabin, gloomy and gray, the light from the snow caught and faintly reflected by the windows.  Ham gave a loud shout that cheered and strengthened every heart, and in another moment he was unlocking the door.

Ham’s little pocket ax sang out in the winter night, and soon his efforts were rewarded by a tiny blaze on the hearth.  He ordered his forces like a veteran, and they obeyed him without question—­all save Sleepy, who chose a comfortable spot in the corner and sat down, refusing to move.  Very soon the kitchen stove began to heat its end of the house, and the big tin teakettle sang and sighed over the flames.  Mr. Allen was busy with supper and Fat was clearing a space before the open fire so they could all sit down together.  Some brought in the wood and piled it high in one corner, while others scraped the snow away from the lea of a big boulder, thus making a shelter for the donkeys.  Ham smuggled a half a dozen frozen potatoes for them and a half loaf of rye bread.

A column of merry sparks rose from the chimney, while the candles threw weird, funny little shadows out on the snow through the barred windows.  Ham and Willis were watering the donkeys and discussing their trip up, when Ham, without any apparent reason, burst into a merry laugh.

“I have an idea, Willis, and it’s a capital one, too.  Will you help me carry it out?” and he laughed again.

“Well, that depends,” returned Willis.

Ham put his hand to his ear and listened, then turned and looked eagerly toward the cabin.  When he was satisfied they were alone he continued:  “When I first came out here to feed the mules I heard an owl hooting up in that big tree.  My, but it startled me at first, until I had time to think what it was.  You know they shot a young mountain lion over on Black Mountain day before yesterday.  Now, we aren’t so far from Black Mountain, and if we are ever going to make a real, worth-while member for O.F.F. out of Sleepy Smith, we have got to begin soon, and, besides, I’m satisfied we will have to use a few extraordinary tactics.  We have nursed him long enough; besides, his spirit is rotten.  He has been sitting in there by that fire all evening and hasn’t turned his hand to do a thing.  He will probably want some one to put him to bed, yet, to-night.  All the way up the trail he whined and acted like a baby.  You remember the tricks he pulled off the day we moved the stuff over from Fairview on the donkeys—­sneaked up in the bunk after dinner and went to sleep.  You know how we nearly locked him in.  He’s hurting our crowd.