"It is I, White," came the barely heard answer. "I am here in the cabin. Can't you come and let me out?"
"No," replied Cabot. "I am tied hand and foot."
"So am I. Are you wounded?"
"No. Are you?"
"No. What are the Indians doing?"
"Running for dear life from a Labrador devil—half wolf and half man—armed with soundless thunder-bolts."
During the short silence that followed, White meditated upon this extraordinary statement, and decided that his comrade's brain must be affected by his sufferings.
"If I could only twist out of these ropes," he groaned, and then he began again a struggle to free his hands from their bonds. At the same time Cabot, who had long since discovered the futility of such effort, was anxiously listening, and wondering what would happen next.
With all his listening he did not hear the soft approach of furred footsteps, and when a blinding light was flashed full in his face he was so startled that he cried out with terror. Instantly the light vanished, and he shuddered as he realised that the furry monster had returned, and, bending over him, was fumbling at his bonds.
In another moment these were severed, he was picked up as though he had been an infant, and carried to the fire, whose scattered embers were speedily re-assembled. As it blazed up, Cabot gazed eagerly at the mysterious figure, which had thus far worked in silence. Curious as he was to see it, he yet dreaded to look upon its wolfish features. Therefore, as the fire blazed up, he uttered a cry of amazement, for, fully revealed by its light, was a man; clad in furs, it is true, but bare-headed and having a pleasant face lighted by kindly blue eyes.