His teeth gleamed for an instant between his tense lips in something that might have been a sneer.
Thorne sat down, rubbing his hands before the fire.
"We've been unfortunate, Jack," he said slowly.

"Gregson and I have had the worst kind of luck since the day we struck this camp, and we're no longer fit for the job.

It will take us six months to get on our feet again.

You'll find everything here in good condition.

The line is blazed straight to the bay; we've got three hundred good men, plenty of supplies, and so far as I know you'll not find a disaffected hand on the Wekusko.