the Shaman; some averred he had but withheld his power, while others conned past events and agreed with the Wolf. The Bear came to the centre of the battleground, a long naked hunting-knife of Russian make in his hand. The Fox called attention to Mackenzie’s revolvers; so he stripped his belt, buckling it about Zarinska, into whose hands he also entrusted his rifle. She shook her head that she could not shoot—small chance had a woman to handle such precious things.
“Then, if danger come by my back, cry aloud, ‘My husband!’ No; thus, ‘My husband!’ ”
He laughed as she repeated it, pinched her cheek, and re-entered the circle. Not only in reach and stature had the Bear the advantage of him, but his blade was longer by a good two inches. Scruff Mackenzie had looked into the eyes of men before, and he knew it was a man who stood against him; yet he quickened to the glint of light on the steel, to the dominant pulse of his race.
Time and again he was forced to the edge of the fire or the deep snow, and time and again, with the foot tactics of the pugilist, he worked back to the centre. Not a voice was lifted in encouragement, while his antagonist was heartened with applause, suggestions, and warnings. But his teeth only shut the tighter as the knives clashed together, and he thrust or eluded with a coolness born of conscious strength. At first he felt compassion for his enemy; but this fled before the primal instinct of life, which in turn gave way to the lust of slaughter. The ten thousand years of culture fell from him, and he was a cave-dweller, doing battle for his female.
Twice he pricked the Bear, getting away unscathed; but the third time caught, and to save himself, free hands closed on fighting hands, and they came together. Then did he realize the tremendous strength of his opponent. His muscles were knotted in painful lumps, and cords and tendons threatened to snap with the strain; yet nearer and nearer came the Russian steel. He tried to break away, but only weakened himself. The fur-clad circle closed in, certain of and anxious to see the final stroke. But with wrestler’s trick, swinging partly to the side, he struck at his adversary with his head. Involuntarily the Bear leaned back, disturbing his centre of gravity. Simultaneous with this, Mackenzie tripped properly and threw his whole weight forward, hurling him clear through the circle into the deep snow. The Bear floundered out and came back full tilt.
“Oh my husband!” Zarinska’s voice rang out, vibrant with danger.
To the twang of a bowstring, Mackenzie swept low to the ground, and a bone-barbed arrow passed over him into the breast of the Bear, whose momentum carried him over his crouching foe. The next instant Mackenzie was up and about. The bear lay motionless, but across the fire was the Shaman, drawing a second arrow.
Mackenzie’s knife leaped short in the air. He caught the heavy blade by the point. There was a flash of light as it spanned the fire. Then the Shaman, the hilt alone appearing without his throat, swayed a moment and pitched forward into the glowing embers.
Click! Click!—the Fox had possessed himself of Thling-Tinneh’s rifle, and was vainly trying to throw a shell into place. But he dropped it at the sound of Mackenzie’s laughter.
“So the Fox has not learned the way of the plaything? He is yet a woman. Come! Bring it, that I may show thee!”
The Fox hesitated.
“Come, I say!”
He slouched forward like a beaten cur.
“Thus, and thus; so the thing is done.” A shell flew into place and the trigger was at cock as Mackenzie brought it to shoulder.
“The Fox has said great deeds were afoot this night, and he spoke true. There have been great deeds, yet least among them were those of the Fox. Is he still intent to take Zarinska to his lodge? Is he minded to tread the trail already broken by the Shaman and the Bear? No? Good!”
Mackenzie turned contemptuously and drew his knife from the priest’s throat.
“Are any of the young men so minded? If so, the Wolf will take them by two and three till none are left. No? Good! Thling-Tinneh, I now give thee this rifle a second time. If in the days to come thou shouldst journey to the Country of the Yukon, know thou that there shall always be a place and much food by the fire of the Wolf. The night is now passing into the day. I go, but I may come again. And for the last time, remember the Law of the Wolf!”
He was supernatural in their sight as he rejoined Zarinska. She took her place at the head of the team, and the dogs swung into motion. A few moments later they were swallowed up by the ghostly forest. Till now Mackenzie had waited; he slipped into his snowshoes to follow.
“Has the Wolf forgotten the five long plugs?”
Mackenzie turned upon the Fox angrily; then the humor of it struck him.
“I will give thee one short plug.”
“As the Wolf sees fit,” meekly responded the Fox, stretching out his hand.
The Men of Forty-Mile
When Big Jim Belden ventured the apparently innocuous proposition that mush-ice was “rather pecooliar,” he little dreamed of what it would lead to. Neither did Lon McFane, when he affirmed that anchor-ice was even more so; nor did Bettles, as he instantly disagreed, declaring the very existence of such a form to be a bugaboo.
“An’ ye’d be tellin’ me this,” cried Lon, “after the years ye’ve spint in the land! An’ we atin’ out the same pot this many’s the day!”
“But the thing’s agin reason,” insisted Bettles. “Look you, water’s warmer than ice—”
“An’ little the difference, once ye break through.”
“Still it’s warmer, because it ain’t froze. An’ you say it freezes on the bottom?”
“Only the anchor-ice, David, only the anchor-ice. An’ have ye niver drifted along,
