A glare of light shone into his eyes, there was a savage growl and a flash as something sprang straight at the foremost of them. A smear of acrid smoke filled the passage, but Appleby fancied he saw a big sealing-club whirl up, and the dog went down, for next moment he stumbled over something that felt soft beneath him. Then with somebody running before them they burst into a room, and the lads long remembered the picture that met them.
Two men who had apparently fled along the passage stood sullenly at the further end of it, and two more who had evidently dragged a table into a corner behind it. They were less than half-dressed, but one who was tall with blue eyes and straw-coloured hair had on a partly buttoned naval uniform. A pistol glinted in his hand, and an inch or two of blue-grey steel shone at his belt. The other man's face was sallow, but he was unarmed, and there was a curious glint in his little dark eyes as he watched the sealers.
For a moment they stood looking at each other, and then another door on the opposite side of the room was driven open and Jordan, rifle in hand, came in. Behind him came Stickine and Donegal. More sealers in shaggy furs and greasy canvas trooped in, but still the blue-eyed officer stood apparently unconcerned. Then Jordan dropped his rifle-butt and held up his hand.
"When I want a man to do anything I'll tell him," he said, and turned gravely to the officer. "You can put that thing down. Nobody's going to hurt you. Can you talk any English?"
The officer who, Appleby surmised, was from the Baltic coast, made a sign of comprehension. "A little—but more easy the French," he said.
"Then," said Jordan dryly, "we'll get ahead. Fetch Brulée in, Stickine."
While Stickine went out the officer laid down his pistol, and with a little deprecatory gesture straightened his uniform and drew tight his belt. Then, to Appleby's astonishment, he took out a little silver box and shook a few cigarettes out from it on to the table. He did not seem in any way disturbed, though the faces of the big bronzed sealers who carried clubs and rifles were very grim as they watched him. This was almost a shock to Appleby, who had hitherto half-instinctively believed that quiet fearlessness and resolute composure in times of stress and peril were only to be expected from Englishmen. Yet here was a Russian helpless in the hands of men whom he knew had a bitter grievance against him and his comrades, and if he felt the slightest fear of them it was at least imperceptible. Appleby was, however, to discover later on that while some lands are considerably more pleasant to live in than others the fact that he was born in England or Russia, or elsewhere, after all makes no great difference in the qualities that become any man.
Then he saw that Stickine had returned, and the officer was speaking. "What you make here, Captain?" he said, getting out the words with evident difficulty.
"He's too slow," said Jordan. "Ask him if he has more men anywhere around, Brulée."
"Two of them at the huts, and 'bout a dozen natives," was the answer.