"Does he? Does he?" came the deep, jerky reply. "And what if he does?"
"H-h-ow is he?" Keith could not help it. An indescribable chill was creeping over him, and his teeth chattered.
"Doesn't he look well?" roared the giant, as he flung the door wide open. "Watch'er want of 'im?"
"They told me you were hurt; the gun burst, and tore away your arm."
"Who told you that?"
"The men at Klassan."
"And who are you, anyway?"
"A medical man, and a missionary."
The man started, and his eyes, terrible before, now fairly blazed in their sockets. Torrents of oaths poured from his lips, and he sprang back into the cabin towards a rifle which was standing in a corner.
No longer did Keith hesitate. He realized his danger, and turning fled from the building out again into the night, whither he knew not, any place was better than near that raving demon with those terrible eyes. Breathless and exhausted, he at length paused and listened, but nothing could he hear except the wind howling in the tree-tops overhead. The truth now flashed upon him. He had been deceived, tricked, the object of a huge joke. It hardly seemed possible that men with any spark of feeling would do such a thing. For an instant a fierce rage took possession of his soul. He clenched his mittened hands, his teeth ground together, and the blood surged tumultuously through his body.