The Silver Horde | Page 7

doesn't succeed,
then I'll take possession again. I won't be passed on all night this way."
"The 'buck' will certainly show us to the straw," said "Fingerless"
Fraser.
"The what?"
"The 'buck'--the sky-dog--oh, the priest!"
But when, a mile farther on, they drew up before a white pile
surmounted by a dimly discerned Greek cross, no sign of life was to be
seen, and their signals awakened no response.
"Gone!--and they knew it."
The vicious manner in which Emerson handled his whip as he said the
words betrayed his state of mind. Three weeks of unvarying hardship
and toilsome travel had worn out both men, and rendered them
well-nigh desperate. Hence they wasted no words when, for the fourth
time, their eyes caught the welcome sight of a shining radiance in the
gloom of the gathering night. The trail-weary team stopped of its own
accord.
"Unhitch!" ordered Emerson, doggedly, as he began to untie the ropes
of the sled. He shouldered the sleeping-bags, and made toward the light
that filtered through the crusted windows, followed by Fraser similarly
burdened. But as they approached they saw at once that this was no
cannery; it looked more like a road-house or trading-post, for the
structure was low and it was built of logs. Behind and connected with it
by a covered hall or passageway crouched another squat building of the
same character, its roof piled thick with a mass of snow, its windows
glowing. Those warm squares of light, set into the black walls and

overhung by white-burdened eaves, gave the place the appearance of a
Christmas-card, it was so snug and cozy. Even the glitter was there,
caused by the rays refracted from the facets of the myriad frost-crystals.
They mounted the steps of the nigh building, and, without knocking,
flung the door open, entered, then tossed their bundles to the floor.
With a sharp exclamation at this unceremonious intrusion, an Indian
woman, whom they had surprised, dropped her task and regarded them,
round-eyed.
"We're all right this time," observed Emerson, as he swept the place
with his eyes. "It's a store." Then to the woman he said, briefly: "We
want a bed and something to eat."
On every side the walls were shelved with merchandise, while the
counter carried a supply of clothing, skins, and what not; a cylindrical
stove in the centre of the room emanated a hot, red glow.
"This looks like the Waldorf to me," said "Fingerless" Fraser, starting
to remove his parka, the fox fringe on the hood of which was white
from his breath.
"What you want?" demanded the squaw, coming forward.
Boyd, likewise divesting himself of his furs, noticed that she was little
more than a girl--a native, undoubtedly; but she was neatly dressed, her
skin was light, and her hair twisted into a smooth black knot at the back
of her head.
"Food! Sleep!" he replied to her question.
"You can't stop here," the girl asserted, firmly.
"Oh yes, we can," said Emerson. "You have plenty of room, and there's
lots of food"--he indicated the shelves of canned goods.
The squaw, without moving, raised her voice and called: "Constantine!
Constantine!"

A door in the farther shadows opened, and the tall figure of a man
emerged, advancing swiftly, his soft soles noiseless beneath him.
"Well, well! It's old Squirrel-Tail," cried Fraser. "Good-evening,
Constantine."
It was the copper-hued native who had rescued them from the river
earlier in the day; but although he must have recognized them, his
demeanor had no welcome in it. The Indian girl broke into a torrent of
excited volubility, unintelligible to the white men.
"You no stop here," said Constantine, finally; and, making toward the
outer door, he flung it open, pointing out into the night.
"We've come a long way, and we're tired," Emerson argued, pacifically.
"We'll pay you well."
Constantine only replied with added firmness, "No," to which the other
retorted with a flash of rising anger, "_Yes!_"
He faced the Indian with his back to the stove, his voice taking on a
determined note. "We won't leave here until we are ready. We're tired,
and we're going to stay here--do you understand? Now tell your
'klootch' to get us some supper. Quick!"
The breed's face blazed. Without closing the door, he moved directly
upon the interloper, his design recognizable in his threatening attitude;
but before he could put his plan into execution, a soft voice from the
rear of the room halted him.
"Constantine," it said.
The travellers whirled to see, standing out in relief against the darkness
of the passage whence the Indian had just come a few seconds before,
the golden-haired girl of the storm, to whom they had been indebted for
their rescue. She advanced, smiling pleasantly, enjoying their surprise.
"What is the trouble?"

"These men no