He leaned on his shovel and watched the village.
'Give me that,' I said and took the shovel from him and began lifting out the earth loosened by the pick Curtis wielded.
Every time I paused I was conscious of the moonlight and the silence. The little torrent hissed and gurgled over the boulders to the fjord. The stillness of the mountains stood over us, cold and remote. We must be visible for miles.
The earth became softer, less frozen. The grave pit deepened until suddenly the pick struck wood. In a few minutes we had cleared the soil from the rough pine coffin. Then we bent down and lifted it out of its shallow grave.
And at that moment Dahler stiffened beside me. 'Somebody is coming,' he hissed.
'Where?' I whispered.
His head turned towards the stream. 'Something moved down there.'
'You're getting jumpy,' Dick whispered.
I turned back to the coffin. Curtis had the pick again. 'Come on,' I said. 'Open it up.'
But he didn't move. He, too, was staring down towards the stream where it ran into the fjord. 'There is somebody there,' x said. 'Look!' He seized my arm and pointed.