Frontin looked a little astonished. “Death of my life! Do you want to see him at the stake, then?”
Crawford considered this. “After a fashion, yes. I want him to see himself at the stake.”
“You err in the man, cap’n. I know that type, with ears so high set! He has no imagination. He is purely animal.”
“Exactly,” said Crawford. “Does an animal fear death? Not at all. An animal, however, invariably possesses one high quality, and that is pride!”
“Oh!” Frontin whistled softly. “Well, perhaps you are right. All the same, I tell you that this animal is dangerous.”
“So am I,” said Crawford. “By the way, does it occur to you that this message reached us just in time? I begin to think that the Star of Dreams is invincible.”
“H’m!” Frontin scratched his chin. “Nine men back at Hudson Bay in an English post—now I wonder what’s brewing in that devil’s brain of yours, my friend?”
“Cortez burnt his ships behind him—I build mine,” said Crawford. He clapped Frontin on the shoulder. “Well, the fool has let us live; now let him rue it! We have work to do, you and I. Let’s lay Phelim Burke away—poor gallant gentleman who loved his king too well! Damnation to all kings and to all men who inherit what they have no power to earn or take!”
“That,” amended Frontin cynically, “is an excellent key to the Scriptures, applicable to heaven as well as to things of this world, since one gains no free passage thither. To those who do not earn, damnation! I have no desire to be critical, my dear cap’n, but it is a pity that you do not turn your talents to theology. Heigh-ho! A queer world.”
None the less, as he approached the wrapped body of Phelim Burke, Frontin crossed himself and his lips moved a little. There were gentler things inside this dark man—and crueller things too—than most other men would guess. When Phelim was laid away under the snow, and none could think of what to say above him except perhaps a paternoster and an ave, it was Frontin who spoke a few soft words which Crawford held long in his memory.