“A lot of folks will be grateful,” the man said. “I’m Les Rinehert, by the way. I have a farm and a stranded band of sheep, myself.”

We got keys from the rack inside the maintenance shop and were firing up the bulldozer when Compton appeared. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

I explained, expecting he’d leap to help, but instead he said, “Captain Hakes didn’t leave us permission to use the equipment, or the gasoline that it will need.” He turned to the farmer. “You’ll have to come back when our CO returns and ask him.”

Mr. Rinehert gave Compton a look like he wondered what kind of fool he was dealing with. By the time the road was open enough for the CO to get in, our bulldozer wouldn’t be needed.

“Look,” I told Compton, “these people have got an emergency. We have to do what we can.”

“No,” he said. “I already told you we don’t have the authority to send out equipment.” He again told Mr. Rinehert, “Come back when Captain Hakes is here.”

The farmer’s face, what I could see of it above his scarf and below his cap, turned a mottled red. “I’ll take the dozer myself if I need to,” he said.

“You won’t need to,” I told him. I turned to Swen, who’d stopped his efforts to start the engine. “Go ahead,” I said. “Crank it up.”

“Don’t,” Compton ordered him.

Swen looked from him to me, hesitated, and then reached for the choke.

“Don’t worry,” I told Compton, who looked fit to be tied. “I’ll take responsibility.”

“You can count on that,” he said. “I’ll make sure the captain knows just what happened, because I am not going to take the blame when he has to report how camp equipment and materials got used without his say-so, and maybe damaged.” He jerked his head toward Swen. “How do you even know he can run that thing?”

I turned to Mr. Rinehert. “We also have stake trucks and lots of fellows who can swing shovels. We’ll do whatever we can.”

Farmers and ranchers came out to meet us at place after place. They were bundled up as heavy as we were, so I never did see a face—just eyes squinting against the bright sun bouncing off snow.

They’d fall into line behind us, driving their horse-drawn wagons loaded with hay and grain. Swen led the way, breaking through the snow with the dozer blade.

Then came the trucks full of CCC’ers. When we got near a set of animals a bunch of us would scramble out and shovel a path through the snowbank, till a fence stopped us.

Then a wagon would maneuver in and a farmer would toss out food.