Sahanderry moaned in utter despair. There was a curious grey pallor under his brickdust complexion. His heart was beating like a drum. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him.
Broom worked with grim expedition and the preliminaries were soon over.
Ocpic stood calmly watching events. His eyes took on a look of puzzled bewilderment as the work progressed, but when Broom struck a match to light the candle, Ocpic divined the hellish secret of these singular preparations. With a startled cry he made a bolt for the door.
But Broom caught him and unceremoniously threw him back. “What-cha-o!” (Wait!), he said grimly.
With a wary eye on the Eskimo, Broom struck another match and coolly lit the candle, but a draught caused the flame to burn unsteadily, and perceiving this was likely to precipitate the explosion Broom carefully snuffed out the flame with his finger and thumb.
“Won’t do! Guess we’ll have to shift it over there,” he said, pointing to a corner of the room and glancing significantly at his companion; but Ocpic hesitated.
“Shift it, I tell you!” roared Broom.
Though unacquainted with the English language, Ocpic understood from Broom’s gestures that he was ordered to move the keg of gunpowder. He tremblingly approached, and lifting it gingerly, placed it in the required place, then glanced furtively around for a speedy chance of escape. But Broom’s bulk blocked the way. Perceiving Ocpic’s lightning glance and divining its import, Broom waved him back.
“Stand back!” he snapped fiercely.
But the native retained his position boldly and scowled threateningly.