He stopped abruptly and listened. The uproar was sinking fast and in a lull he heard footsteps outside. Then the door was pushed open and a man staggered in. His fur-coat was torn and muddy, his feet came through his pulp moccasins, and the water that drained from him made a pool on the floor. Three others followed and stood, dripping, in the light, while Scott and Thirlwell gazed at them. Then the first dropped into a chair and leaned his arms on the table as if overcome by fatigue. His face was gaunt and his eyes were half shut.
"The boss is pretty well used up," said one of the others and Scott crossed the floor.
"Stormont," he said, "you look as if you had been up against it hard."
Stormont lifted his head and Thirlwell thought his eyes got like a wolf's.
"I'm starving! No food the last two days."
"Not much before!" one of the rest remarked.
"Been on mighty short rations since we hit the backtrail. Had a tough job to make it; had to leave our blankets and truck."
"We can give you a meal and a place to sleep. But where have you been?"
"Up north," another answered vaguely, and Scott, recognizing his caution, smiled as he turned to the last of the party, who stood near the door.
"You look fresher than the others, Steve. However, you're used to the country and I expect you brought your partners down."