A thousand dogs, in pitiful chorus, wailed their
ancient wrongs and claimed mercy from the unheeding stars. Not a breath
of air was moving. For them there was no shelter from the cold, no
shrewd crawling to leeward in snug nooks. The frost was everywhere, and
they lay in the open, ever and anon stretching their trail-stiffened
muscles and lifting the long wolf-howl.
They did not talk at first, the man and the woman. While the maid helped
Freda off with her wraps, Floyd Vanderlip replenished the fire; and by
the time the maid had withdrawn to an inner room, his head over the
stove, he was busily thawing out his burdened upper lip. After that he
rolled a cigarette and watched her lazily through the fragrant eddies.
She stole a glance at the clock. It lacked half an hour of midnight. How
was she to hold him? Was he angry for that which she had done? What was
his mood? What mood of hers could meet his best? Not that she doubted
herself. No, no. Hold him she could, if need be at pistol point, till
Sitka Charley's work was done, and Devereaux's too.
There were many ways, and with her knowledge of this her contempt for the
man increased.
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