That dirt all goes out before you'll have another chance to hit the hay." Bryant arose next morning at seven.

The sky was overcast and the thermometer was sixteen below zero when he examined it.

Across the snow he could see the north camp stirring to life, awakening in the frosty, pallid light of dawn.

Stretching thither ran uneven snowy ridges, save at one place where they lay bare and brown--the banks of the canal.

When the small interval still undug was moved, the ditch would be finished from river to ranch, from the Pinas down to Perro.
And this was to be the last day of toil! To-day the camps were to hurl themselves at that short remaining strip of earth and tear it out; the furrow so long pressed ahead through the iron ground was to be brought to an end; the enemy, frost, was to be conquered at last.