“Thank heaven, then, I was in time. Can you help me trample out the rest or this fire?”
“Hadn’t we better escape? You might help me drag my sled into a place of safety.”
“There is no place of safety near,” was the reply; “and it’s cold enough to freeze us to death. We had better stay here.”
“But we dare not light a fire; they would see us, and come and pick us off.”
“I don’t think the cowardly hounds will dare to come back.”
“But they might, and I dare not risk it.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Not seriously, but wrenched and strained in the struggle. Can you understand what I say? I don’t know my own voice.”
“Yes, I can hear you. What is it—a cold?”
“No; I was right enough an hour ago. That red-bearded dog caught me by the throat. He was trying to strangle me. I fired at random, and then my senses were going, but I heard your shots. He has quite taken away my voice. Where is your hand, sir?”