His assailant leaped out from his hiding-place and ran down the walk, the sound of his quick, soft footfalls thudding faintly out into the silence. The young man felt no pain, however, so scrambled to his feet, felt himself over with care, and then swore roundly. He was untouched; the other had missed him cleanly. The report, coming while he was in the act of leaping, had startled him so that he had lost his balance, slipped upon the wet boards, and fallen. His assailant was lost in the darkness before he could rise. Pursuit was out of the question, so he continued homeward, considerably shaken, and related the incident to Dextry.
“You think it was some of McNamara’s work, eh?” Dextry inquired when he had finished.
“Of course. Didn’t the detective warn me to-day?”
Dextry shook his head. “It don’t seem like the game is that far along yet. The time is coming when we’ll go to the mat with them people, but they’ve got the aige on us now, so what could they gain by putting you away? I don’t believe it’s them, but whoever it is, you’d better be careful or you’ll be got.”
“Suppose we come home together after this,” Roy suggested, and they arranged to do so, realizing that danger lurked in the dark corners and that it was in some such lonely spot that the deed would be tried again. They experienced no trouble for a time, though on nearing their cabin one night the younger man fancied that he saw a shadow glide away from its vicinity and out into the blackness of the tundra, as though some one had stood at his very door waiting for him, then became frightened at the two figures approaching. Dextry had not observed it, however, and Glenister was not positive himself, but it served to give him the uncanny feeling that some determined, unscrupulous force was bent on his destruction. He determined to go nowhere unarmed.
A few evenings later he went home early and was busied in writing when Dextry came in about ten o’clock. The old miner hung up his coat before speaking, lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then, amid mouthfuls of smoke, began:
“I had my own toes over the edge to-night. I was mistook for you, which compliment I don’t aim to have repeated.”
Glenister questioned him eagerly.
“We’re about the same height an’ these hats of ours are alike. Just as I come by that lumber-pile down yonder, a man hopped out an throwed a ‘gat’ under my nose. He was quicker than light, and near blowed my skelp into the next block before he saw who I was; then he dropped his weepon and said:
“ ‘My mistake. Go on.’ I accepted his apology.”