Weimer made no reply. His pipe had fallen on his chest, and his hair-encircled mouth was wide open in a vacuous sleep. At that moment the rising wind beat the snow against the window, and Ross uttered an exclamation. He had forgotten to shut the tool-house door, and, fearing that with the wind in the south the little log house would be filled with snow before morning, he went back up the trail to the tunnel. Climbing noiselessly over the soft snow, he arrived at the ore dump, and was making for the tool house across the mouth of the tunnel when a light flickered in his path. Startled, he looked into the tunnel, and saw three figures at the end silhouetted against the dim candle-light. "Lon, Sandy and Waymart," he muttered. There was no danger of his being discovered, so dark was the night. Therefore, he sat down on his heels beside the tool house, and watched, puzzled at first to understand the movements of the men. "Oh," he muttered suddenly, "they're measuring to see how fast the work is going." With a tape line the men were estimating the cubic feet of rock excavated by Ross and Weimer. Ross hugged his knees, and exulted. His "friends the enemy" might measure all they chose, he thought; and every length of the tape line would reveal to them the futility of waiting to jump the Weimer-Grant claims. Presently the three started out of the tunnel. Ross, seeking a hiding-place, found it behind a clump of low spruce trees at the right of the tunnel's mouth. The intruders blew out their candles as they came out on the dump. "At this rate," Ross heard Waymart say, "they're solid on these here claims." But, although he strained his ears, he could hear nothing more. After a brief wait the last sound of twigs breaking under their shoes died away; and Ross, leaving his hiding-place, shut the tool-house door and went back to the cabin. He found Weimer awake and whistling in his bunk. Ross paused at the door, regarding him curiously. It was the first time he had ever heard the old man make this cheerful sound, although Steele had said he used to be called Whistling Weimer as well as Dutch Weimer. "Hello, Uncle Jake!" cried Ross. "Feeling pretty gay, aren't you?" Weimer stopped in the middle of his tune, and blinked at Ross. "Nein," he denied, "I ain't feelin' gay. If your eyes vas----" Ross interrupted. "Now, see here, Uncle Jake; you know your eyes are better since I've taken to doctoring them." The last few weeks had certainly improved the old man. His eyes were better, owing to a cooling lotion which Ross had dropped under the lids twice a day. Weimer's mind was clearer because his growing confidence in his young partner had quieted his fears. Ross's cheerfulness was also contagious. Nor did the cleanliness on which the boy insisted lower Weimer's vitality. Soap became a known quantity to him.