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"Little Mystery Isobel " He heard a sound, a strange, stifled cry, and he looked up. From behind the shrubbery there had come a woman, and she was staring at Billy MacVeigh with a face as white as chalk. He staggered to his feet, and he believed that at last he had gone mad.
On the west the Barren thrust itself down in a long finger ten miles in width, and across that MacVeigh would have to strike to reach the wooded country beyond. It was over there that he had the greatest hope of discovering a trail. After he had finished his supper he loaded his pipe, and sat hunched close up to his fire, staring out over the Barren.
There was a vengeful leer on his bloody face and his eyes blazed almost white, but his voice was so low that Conway and Walker could only hear the murmur of it. His words were meant for Billy alone. "For this I'm going to kill you, MacVeigh," he said; and in spite of Billy's contempt for the man there was a quality in the low voice that sent a curious shiver through him.
As Pelliter ran out he gripped him by the shoulders. "Listen!" he commanded. "Listen to that!" "Wolves!" said Pelliter. The wind was rising, and sent a whistling blast through the open door of the cabin. It awakened Little Mystery, who sat up with frightened cries. "No, it's not wolves," cried MacVeigh, and it did not sound like MacVeigh's voice that spoke. "I never heard wolves like that.
It was not the face of MacVeigh the old MacVeigh that Rookie McTabb, the ex-constable, looked into a few moments later. Days of sickness could have laid no heavier hand upon him than had those few minutes in the darkened room of the cabin. His face was white and drawn. There were tense lines at the corners of his mouth and something strange and disquieting in his eyes.
They were shut out from the stars, and in the darkness MacVeigh began to whistle cheerfully. He unstrapped his pack and spread out one of his blankets close to the box and wrapped the other about the woman's shoulders. "You sit here while I make a fire," he said. He piled up dry needles over a precious bit of his birchbark and struck a flame.
Billy advanced toward her with his hands reaching out. But suddenly he stopped and stood listening. After a moment he turned and asked again: "What was that?" "I heard the dogs and the wind," she replied. "It's something cracking in my head, I guess," said MacVeigh. "It sounded like " He passed a hand over his forehead and looked at the dogs huddled in deep sleep beside the sledge.
It was little Isobel who pulled MacVeigh together, and after a little he rose with her in his arms and turned her from the wall while he covered Deane's face with the end of a blanket. Then he went to the door. The Eskimos were building fires. Pelliter was seated on the sledge a short distance from the cabin, and at Billy's call he came toward him.
We're 'eroes all right, but there's no one knows it but ourselves and the six hundred and forty-nine other men of the Royal Mounted. My God, what I'd give for the sight of a girl's face, for just a moment's touch of her hand! It would drive out this fever, for it's the fever of loneliness, Mac a sort of madness, and it's splitting my 'ead." "Tush, tush!" said MacVeigh, taking his mate's hand.
Almost instantly he found a revolver leveled at his breast. "Put that up, Bucky Smith," he called. "If you're looking for a man you've found the wrong one!" The man advanced. His eyes were red and staring. His pistol arm dropped as he came within a yard of Billy. "By It's you, is it, Billy MacVeigh!" he exclaimed. His laugh was harsh and unpleasant.
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