It was a
bottle. Kazan snarled. The trace-dogs slunk close to the leader's
heels. With a low word Jan led them on.
Close down to the river, where the Saskatchewan swung in a half-moon
to the south and west, he found a low, squat building with a light
hung over the door illuminating a bit of humor in the form of a
printed legend which said that it was "King Edward's Hotel." The scrub
bush of the forest grew within a hundred yards of it, and in this bush
Jan tied his dogs and left his sledge. It did not occur to him that
now, when he had entered civilization, he had come also into the land
of lock and bolt, of robbers and thieves. It was loneliness, and not
suspicion, that sent him back to unleash Kazan and take him with him.
They entered the hotel, Kazan with suspicious caution. The door opened
into a big room lighted by an oil lamp, turned low. The room was empty
except for a solitary figure sitting in a chair, facing a wide window
which looked into the north. Making no sound, that he might not
disturb this other occupant, Jan also seated himself before the
window. Kazan laid his wolfish head across his master's knees, his one
eye upon him steadily and questioningly. Never in all his years of
life had Jan felt the depth of loneliness that swept upon him now, as
he looked into the North.
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