The moose finished his critical survey of the group, snorted, and then thrust himself out of sight in the bushes. “If we ever have any serious fallin' out with Colonel Gid it's like to be over that moose,” drawled a man. “To judge by the moose, we must be near Number 7 camp,” Parker suggested. “Just over the hossback,” was the laconic answer. Parker was soon looking down on it from the hilltop. There were two long, low main camps--one for the sleeping quarters of the men, the other crowded with long, roughly made tables, at which they ate, The space that separated the camps was roofed and had one side open to the weather. This shelter was called the “dingle,” and contained the camp grindstone and spare sled equipment. At a little distance was a small camp containing the stores, such as moccasins, larigans, leggings, flannel shirts and mittens, all for sale at double the prices ruling in the city and for Colonel Ward's profit. The woods name for this store is the “wangan camp.” The hour was still too early for the few men left at Number 7 to be in from the cutting. Only the cook and his helper, “the cookee,” were at the camp. The cook came out and advanced to meet the new arrivals, having been attracted from his kettles and pans by the view-halloo they sent down from the hilltop. “Colonel left word to lock him in the wangan,” reported the cook, rolling his bare arms more tightly in his dingy apron. “Where is the colonel?” asked Connick. “He's out at the log landin'. Be in at supper-time, so he said.” The cook eyed the captive with curiosity not unmixed with commiseration. “Has he been takin' on much?” he inquired of one of the men. “Nope. Stiff upper lip--an' he licked Dan,” the man added, behind his palm. “Sho!” the cook ejaculated, looking on Parker with new interest. “Ain't he worried by thinkin' of the colonel?” “Naw-w! Says he'll eat him raw!” fabricated the men, enjoying the cook's amazement. “Says he's glad to come up here. Been hankerin' to get at Ward, he says.” “Wal, you don't say!” The cook surveyed Parker from head to foot with critical inspection. This scrutiny annoyed the young man at last. “Do I owe you anything?” He snapped. “Heh--wal--blorh-h--wal, I hope ye don't!” spluttered the cook, retreating. “Land, ain't he a savage one?” he gasped, as he hastened back into his realm of pots. He transferred his news to the amazed cookee. “They tell me,” he magnified, so as not to be outdone in sensationalism, “that this feller has licked every man that they've turned him loose on between here and Sunkhaze, an' now is just grittin' his teeth a-waitin' for the colonel.”