I stood like a conjurer surprised by his own trick.
A threatening growl rose from the group huddled about Plock who now came forward boldly, his face distorted with passion. The mask was off.
"This is buncomb, Traprock," he shouted. "You have done away with those orders! Where are they? You know perfectly well that your instructions are to...."
What he was about to divulge will never be known. Whipping up my left arm I caught his heel with my right foot and the back of his head struck the ice with a crack that roused the distant pemmican to renewed screaming.[8]
"Stow that dunnage," I said quietly, and the limp carcass was tossed aboard where it lolled grotesquely over the hatch-combing.
"To your places, you others...."
A slow, straining heave at the traces brought the Kawa up on her guide-runners and she moved gracefully across the ice.
Pondering mournfully on the strange turn of events, wondering who could have purloined the fateful packet, but taking care to show no exterior sign of my perplexity, I trudged on, occasionally breaking the silence with a single word of command.
"Mush."