It was a deserted cabin of a single room,
eight feet by ten on the inside. Messner unharnessed the animals,
unloaded his sled and took possession. The last chance wayfarer
had left a supply of firewood. Messner set up his light sheet-iron
stove and starred a fire. He put five sun-cured salmon into the
oven to thaw out for the dogs, and from the water-hole filled his
coffee-pot and cooking-pail.
While waiting for the water to boil, he held his face over the
stove. The moisture from his breath had collected on his beard and
frozen into a great mass of ice, and this he proceeded to thaw out.
As it melted and dropped upon the stove it sizzled and rose about
him in steam. He helped the process with his fingers, working
loose small ice-chunks that fell rattling to the floor.
A wild outcry from the dogs without did not take him from his task.
He heard the wolfish snarling and yelping of strange dogs and the
sound of voices. A knock came on the door.
"Come in," Messner called, in a voice muffled because at the
moment he was sucking loose a fragment of ice from its anchorage on
his upper lip.
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