Bracknell laughed shortly. “I am afraid I cannot unfold the record of that particular sin for your gaze. It was a wild, mad thing, but it seemed all right at the time. Now I think I shall have to pay for it—and you too. I seem to be your evil genius,” he added penitently.
Joy did not reply. She was watching the proceedings of the Shaman, who after listening to their captors, tottered up to Bracknell and surveyed him with eyes that were gloating and cruel. Joy shuddered as she read the evil triumph in the old savage’s face, and looked at her husband. Apparently he was altogether composed, and there was a contemptuous look on his haggard face. Joy was conscious of a certain thrill of pride as she looked at him. Dick Bracknell might have many weaknesses, but cowardice was not one of them. Then the Shaman spoke, mumbling through toothless gums, and though she did not understand a single word of what he was saying, Joy caught the rasping menace in his voice and shuddered again. The Shaman laughed as he broke off, a throaty, croaking laugh, which seemed unutterably evil; and a moment later they were hurried to one of the tepees and the skin door was thrown together and lashed outside. In the darkness, Joy spoke.
“What was that old savage saying to you, Dick?”
Bracknell laughed shortly. “Oh, he was promising himself pleasure and me pain, indeed my pain was to be his pleasure.”
“Ah! You mean they are going to torture you?”
“I shouldn’t wonder!”
“Will they be long before——?”
“Tonight, I fancy! It seems the tribe is in luck. A couple of moose were killed this morning, and a potlatch—sort of tribal bean-feast, you know—is arranged for tonight and most of them will gorge. The Shaman will no doubt arrange some form of entertainment in which I shall take a star part!”
“Oh, it is dreadful!” cried Joy.
In the darkness she heard Dick Bracknell draw his breath sharply, and a second later a hand touched hers. She did not shrink, but remained quite still, and then heard him speak in a broken, stammering whisper—