"And if we don't beat Willis Marsh, by God, I'll kill him!" Balt shouted, fully capable of carrying out his threat, for his bloodshot eyes were lit with bitter hatred and the memory of his wrongs was like gall in his mouth. Turning to the girl, he said:
"Now give me something to eat. I've been living on dog fish till my belly is full of bones."
He ripped the ragged parka from his back and flung it in a sodden heap beside the stove; then strode after her, with the others following.
She seated him at her table and spread food before him—great quantities of food, which he devoured ravenously, humped over in his seat like a bear, his jaw hanging close to his plate. His appetite was as ungoverned as his temper; he did not taste his meal nor note its character, but demolished whatever fell first to his hand, staring curiously up from under his thatched brows at Emerson, now and then grunting some interruption to the other's rapid talk. Of Cherry and of "Fingerless" Fraser, who regarded him with awe, he took not the slightest heed. He gorged himself with sufficient provender for four people; then observing that the board was empty, swept the crumbs and remnants from his lips, and rose, saying:
"Now, let's go out by the stove. I've been cold for three days."
Cherry left the two of them there, and long after she had gone to bed she heard the murmur of their voices.
"It's all arranged," they advised her at the breakfast-table. "We leave to-morrow."
"To-morrow?" she echoed, blankly.
"To-morrow?" likewise questioned Fraser, in alarm. "Oh, say! You can't do that. My feet are too sore to travel. I've certainly got a bad pair of 'dogs.'"
"We start in the morning. We have no time to waste."