He shuddered as his hands came in contact with the icy feeling of cold, but it was for life, and a feeling of joy shot through him, for it was as he had hoped. In a few minutes he had unfastened a buckle, turned the body over slightly, and that which he sought to obtain yielded to the steady pull he gave.
He had drawn free the dead man’s belt, bringing with it his revolver in its little holster and the pouchful of cartridges.
That seemed to give new life to him as he buckled the belt about his waist. Then, taking out the pistol, he felt it in the dark, to find that it was loaded in every chamber, and that the lock worked easily and well.
The pistol replaced in the belt, the young man remained thinking, with all his energy seeming to have returned. What was he to do next? There was food of some kind on the sledge, and he must eat. There were blankets, and with them and the sledge for shelter he must rest and sleep.
There was the dead man and his faithful dog, but their near presence brought no feeling of horror. He felt that he could kneel down by the poor fellow and offer up a prayer for His mercies, and then lie down to sleep in perfect trust of awakening at daybreak, for he was no longer suffering from exhaustion, and hardly felt the cold.
“But not yet—not yet,” he muttered, and a faint sound broke the silence as he stood there, his teeth grinding softly together, while his next words, uttered half aloud, told the direction his thoughts had taken.
“The cowardly dogs!” he exclaimed. “Three to one, and him unarmed. But not now—not now.”
A brief search brought his hands in contact with a canvas satchel-bag, in which were ship’s biscuits, and one of these he took. It would suffice.
Breaking it and beginning to eat, he set off at once on the back track to execute his daring project, one which made him glow to his finger-tips.
“Better go on,” he said with a mocking laugh. “Yes, but not yet. They’re cowards—such scoundrels always are—and the darkness will magnify the number of the attack.