The fire fought a losing battle, and at last died away, while the frost
penetrated the mossy chinks between the logs and chilled the inner
atmosphere. The dogs outside ceased their howling, and, curled up in the
snow, dreamed of salmon-stocked heavens where dog-drivers and kindred
task-masters were not. Within, the sailor lay like a log, while his host
tossed restlessly about, the victim of strange fantasies. As midnight
drew near he suddenly threw off the blankets and got up. It was
remarkable that he could do what he then did without ever striking a
light. Perhaps it was because of the darkness that he kept his eyes
shut, and perhaps it was for fear he would see the terrible gash on the
cheek of his visitor; but, be this as it may, it is a fact that,
unseeing, he opened his ammunition box, put a heavy charge into the
muzzle of the shotgun without spilling a particle, rammed it down with
double wads, and then put everything away and got back into bed.
Just as daylight laid its steel-gray fingers on the parchment window,
Jacob Kent awoke. Turning on his elbow, he raised the lid and peered
into the ammunition box.
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