Broom eyed it fearfully, while his face grew pale and moist with perspiration. He clutched at the sides of the bunks to support his trembling limbs. Then commanding his courage he demanded somewhat unsteadily:
“Who are you?—speak out—be you man or devil?”
The answer was a wordless mumble. The dim form slipped forward into the light and the broad figure and grinning face of Ocpic stood revealed, and Broom’s courage was greatly restored. He heaved a long sigh of relief and made a ghastly attempt at jocularity.
“Well, you imp of Satan,” he cried, “what do you want here?”
“Ik-ki mai” (It is very cold), declared the Eskimo with an accompanying expressive shiver. Then, entirely unsolicited, he lit the fire, which had gone out during Broom’s absence.
Broom paid no further attention to the native. With short, jerky steps he recommenced his restless walk, pausing now and again with a nervous start as the wood in the stove cracked sharply, like so many reports of a pistol. He was in an impatient fury. His deliberations were far from pleasant, for he felt that however much Roy might be inclined to overlook the offence of breaking into the liquor chest, he had, by his unpardonable assault upon Kasba, followed by his brutal attack on David, put himself outside the pale of forgiveness. He knew by experience that the trader would show him no mercy for this second insult to the girl, and he dreaded his return. Not that he was a coward—in the physical sense of the word; if corporal punishment could have atoned for his brutal conduct he would have taken his punishment—as he then felt—with the utmost satisfaction. But he recognized that in bringing this trouble upon himself he had betrayed the trader’s trust, and this, to his mind, was a far greater offence than his more criminal actions—even as cheating at cards or the like ungentlemanly action is popularly supposed to touch a man’s honor more closely than the committal of any offence in the criminal calendar. He paced the floor impatiently, out of humor with himself and things else, and cursing with bitter oaths his folly and the circumstances which led to it. Moreover, the craving for strong drink was again upon him, lashing him into a fury.
He had just succeeded in working himself into an ungovernable passion when the kitchen door was thrown violently open and Sahanderry burst into the room. The Indian gibbered wildly and seemed about to precipitate himself upon Broom.
“What for you do?” he cried excitedly, pausing in the doorway and spreading out his hands with a gesture of interrogation.
Broom stopped short in his walk and stared at the speaker with eyes that darted malignant hate. The appearance of Sahanderry was as a match to tinder, and Broom’s look was so venomous that it disconcerted the Indian and he halted irresolutely.
Sahanderry’s discomfiture tickled Broom. He laughed derisively, then abruptly resumed his tramp, his manner signifying his utter contempt for anything the enraged Indian might do.