Between them was recognition--an amazed and
stone like horror on the girl's part, a sudden and growing glare
of bestial exultation in the eyes of the man.
Suddenly there came the Eskimo's voice and the yapping of dogs. It
was the first Blake had heard. He swung his head toward the door
with a great gasp and the babiche cut like whipcord under the
strain of his muscles. Swift as a flash Philip thrust the muzzle
of the big Colt against his prisoner's head.
"Make a sound and you're a dead man, Blake!" he warned. "We need
that team, and if you so much as whisper during the next ten
seconds I'll scatter your brains over the floor!"
They could hear the cold creak of the sledge-runners now, and a
moment later the patter of many feet outside the door. In a single
leap Philip was at the door. Another and he was outside, and an
amazed Eskimo was looking into the round black eye of his
revolver. It required no common language to make him understand
what was required of him. He backed into the cabin with the
revolver within two feet of his breast.
Pages:
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236