After hesitating a moment Kasba uttered the one word—“Broom!”
Roy’s face hardened, his whole body stiffened ominously, for he conjectured that his enemy was in close proximity. “The villain!” he muttered. Then, releasing the girl’s hand, he held out his own and demanded that the revolver be put in it.
Reluctantly Kasba complied with his demand.
Then, “Where is he?” enquired Roy in a low, tense voice.
“At some distance. He is with the Eskimo Ocpic, in camp and asleep. I discovered them and came back for the revolver.”
“And why?”
“That I might kill him,” hissed the girl, with flashing eyes and her bosom heaving with uncontrollable excitement. Then, “Oh, give me the revolver, Bekothrie, and let me go,” she pleaded; for her bitter hatred toward her persecutor had completely overcome the terror she had always felt for him.
“No! That is my work,” said Roy sternly. “Lead me to him.”
The girl had been taught strict obedience, and did not pause to argue with Roy as to the improbability of his being able while laboring under his terrible affliction to accomplish his revenge by shooting Broom. Besides she, like Sahanderry, had a deep-set belief in Roy’s infallibility. With hasty fingers she fastened on his snowshoes. Then, taking his hand, she gently led him forth.
The way was rough and tortuous. With her disengaged hand and her strong body the girl forced a path through the bushes so that none might touch him in passing. Their progress was necessarily slow and laborious, their footsteps uncertain.