He surged back to the tunnel as the smoke from the fire strangled him and, snatching up a snowshoe, began to dig furiously.
Nick, listening to this tirade of abuse, began to feel a panicky terror. Henderson’s gasping, choking voice sounded perfectly demoniacal as it reverberated in the chimney, and the frightful threats were delivered with the frenzy of a raving maniac.
The long siege had been too much, thought Nick. The old man had gone suddenly crazy—crazy with the lust for blood. Weren’t the papers always full of stories of men who shot people in bursts of insanity and then grew sane again? If Henderson could get his gun now, he would surely do for him, unless he shot Henderson first— or unless—but he didn’t want to run. He must do something, though!
His partner’s snowshoe was crunching nearer and nearer the snow-filled doorway, while the digger gasped great lungfuls of air into his heaving chest. Nick stood hesitating for another moment, glancing about the dim-lit room while the candle on the mantel spluttered and wavered. Then he ran to the shelf by the bunks and with trembling hands gathered up the two revolvers, the rifle and all the cartridges.
Three minutes later Henderson burst in. Nick stood waiting for him with set face in front of the fire-place. The old man kicked the little pile of snow to one side and shut the door carefully. Then he whirled and charged across the cabin. His partner met him half-way.
The desperate rough-and-tumble fight that followed raged for an hour, all about the little room, under the bunks, almost in the fire. Stools flew everywhere, extra clothing fell from the walls and got tangled up with the writhing swelter of arms and legs, ashes swirled, while the men panted and tugged, punched gasping, short-armed punches, neither giving an inch, seemingly as strong and fresh as ever.
Then of a sudden as they rose together Nick made a terrific effort to hit the old man on the jaw. The old man dodged back sharply and the fist swished harmlessly past. Nick half-turned and stumbled forward, unable to overcome the momentum of the blow. He blundered heavily against Henderson, who had not regained his balance. They crashed to the floor, rolled apart, and lay flat in utter exhaustion.
Henderson at length drew himself with much grunting to a sitting posture. He sighed as his eyes took in the wreckage of the room.
“What a couple o’ durn fools we be, anyway,” he remarked heavily.
Nick rolled over and met his partner’s wry grin with a hoarse chuckle. He too sighed as he surveyed the hodge-podge of furniture and clothes sprinkled with ashes. The old man staggered to his feet and made for the door to let some fresh air into the reeking room. As he stepped over Hartley he stopped and reached down a sweaty hand.