Part 28 (1/2)

”And you?”

”Get back home again. She'll break her heart if she loses us both.”

_Thud_!

There was a heavy blow at the rough door, and then another.

”Norton come to look us up,” whispered Dallas.

”No; he would not knock like that,” whispered back Abel--needlessly, for the roar of the storm would have made the voices inaudible outside.

There was another blow on the door as if something had b.u.t.ted against it, and then a scratching on the rough wood.

”A bear?” whispered Dallas, rising softly. ”Be quiet. Bear's meat is good, but a bear would not be out on a night like this.”

There was another blow, and then a piteous, whining howl.

”A dog, by Jove!” cried Dallas. ”Then his master must be in trouble in the snow.”

”Dal, it would be madness to go out in this storm. It means death.”

Dallas did not reply, but lifted the blanket, from which a quant.i.ty of fine snow dropped, and took down the great wooden bar which, hanging in two rough mortices, formed its fastening.

As he drew the door inward a little, there was a rush of snow and wind, and the fire roared as the sparks and ashes were wafted about the place, threatening to fire the two rough bed-places; and with the drifting fine snow a great lump forced its way in through the narrow crack, rus.h.i.+ng towards the blaze, uttering a dismal howl.

Dallas thrust the door to and stared at the object before them, one of the great Eskimo dogs, with its thick coat so matted and covered with ice and snow that the hairs seemed finished off with icicles, which rattled as the poor brute moved.

”Hullo, here!” cried Dallas. ”Where's your master?”

The dog looked at him intelligently, then opened its mouth and howled.

”Come along, then. Seek, seek.”

The young man made for the door as if to open it, but the dog crept closer to the fire, crouched down, and howled more dismally than before.

”Well, come and find him, then. Your master. Here, here! Come along.”

The dog lifted its head, looked at the glowing fire, and then at first one and then the other, howled again, and made an effort to raise itself, but fell over.

”What's he mean by that, poor brute? He's as weak as a rat. What is it, then, old fellow?” cried Dallas, bending down to pat him. ”Why, the poor brute's a mere skeleton.”

The dog howled once more, struggled up, and fell over sideways.

”He doesn't act as if any one was with him,” said Abel.

The dog howled again, made a fresh effort, and this time managed to sit up on his hindquarters, and drooped his fore-paws, opening his great mouth and lolling out the curled-up tongue.

”Starving--poor wretch!” said Dallas. ”No, no, Bel, don't. It's the last piece of the bread.”

”I can't eat it,” replied Abel. ”Let the poor brute have it. I can't see it suffer like that.”