Rockwell has been a trump. The weather can't be too cold for him. This morning he pulled his end of the saw without rest. He rarely goes out now without his horse, lance, and sword and he addresses me always as "My lord." Surely Lancelot himself was no gentler knight. And now it's bedtime. The cold is less than last night but still I sit huddled at the stove. It is the bitter wind that makes the trouble.
A splendid day of wood cutting. It was milder and quite windless in our cove, although in the bay there were whitecaps. A light snow had begun to fall by noon and it continues. To increase our lead on the weather we set to work upon a twenty-eight inch tree. We had to throw it somewhat against its natural lean and it was a terrible job. The wedge would not enter the frozen tree and when it at last did it wouldn't lift the great mass that rested on it. Only after an hour's continuous pounding with the heavy sledge-hammer did I drive the wedge in clear to the head, and then the great tree fell. The fall of one of these monsters--for to us they seem gigantic--is thrilling. This one went straight where we had aimed it, down a narrow avenue in the woods. Ripping and crashing it fell carrying down a smaller tree with its limbs. Then Rockwell and I set to work with the saw. When the drums were split we hauled them to the cabin on Olson's Yukon sled. And now our wood pile is a joyous sight, while within the cabin we have a whole, cold day's supply.
Last night just as I was going to bed Rockwell began to talk in his sleep about some wild adventure with his imaginary savages. I asked him if he were cold. "No, my lord," he murmured and slept on. Very fine barley soup to-day. Water in which barley had been boiled, two bouillon cubes, onions browned in bacon fat. Rockwell said it was the best yet.
Again the days are like spring. Yesterday began the thaw and today continues it with rain most of the time. So we've stayed within doors, Sir Lancelot and my lordship working here at our craft. I have just completed my second drawing for the day. One a day has been the rate for a month--but yesterday the spirit didn't work. But the news! A great, old tramp steamer entered yesterday. That must carry mail and freight and send Olson back to us. If only it were a regular liner I'd know for sure. It is possible this steamer has been chartered to relieve the situation. Well--the next fair, calm day will show.