“Bad luck ter him,” Tom said, as he looked down at the fallen man. “Sure an’ I hated ter do it, but ’tis the only language they kin understand, so it is.”
A handful of snow rubbed in his face quickly brought him to, and with a groan he opened his eyes.
“Me go,” he muttered.
“Sure an’ it’s meself as knowed thot all the time,” Tom laughed, as he dragged the man to his feet.
Fortunately none of the snow-shoes had been broken in the fight and after waiting a few minutes for the man to recover his wind they started back. No word was spoken until they reached the clearing.
“Now take off yer snow-shoes,” Tom ordered, and as soon as the order was obeyed he led the way back to the bunk house.
Most of the men were awake, some of them sitting on the edge of their bunks, while others were gathered about the stoves talking excitedly.
“Here’s yer howling spook,” Tom shouted, as he pushed open the door and pulled the frightened man inside.
For an instant all was still as the men turned their heads to see who had spoken, then as they recognized the boss, a glad shout went up. After a moment Tom held up his hand and the shouting quickly died down.
“Now tell ’em you made thot yelling,” he ordered, turning to his captive. “Spake,” he thundered, as the man remained silent, “or I’ll be after giving ye another taste o’ this,” and he shook his huge fist in the man’s face.