"You come from Churchill?" he asked.
His words were hardly a question. They were more of an excuse for him
to draw nearer, and he turned a little, so that for an instant the
glowing fire flashed in his eyes.
"Yes, we started from the Etawney just a week ago to-day."
Jan had come very near. The stranger interrupted himself to stare into
the thin, fierce face that had grown like a white cameo almost within
reach of him. With a startled cry, he drew a step back, and Jan's
violin dropped to the snow.
For no longer than a breath there was silence. The man wormed himself
back into the shadows inch by inch, followed by the white face of the
boy. Then there came shrilly from Jan's lips the mad shrieking of a
name, and his knife flashed as he leaped at the other's breast.
The stranger was quicker than he. With a sudden movement he cleared
himself of the blow; and as Jan's arm went past him, the point of the
knife ripping his coat-sleeve, he shot out a powerful fist and sent
the boy reeling to the ground.
Stunned and bleeding, Jan dragged himself to his knees. He saw the
dogs turning, heard a low voice urging them to the trail, and saw the
sledge disappear into the forest. He staggered from his knees to his
feet, and stood swaying in his weakness.
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