The Silver Horde. Rex Beach

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">       Fraser, "ain't it?"

      But his irate companion made no comment, whereat, sensing the anger behind his silence, the speaker, for once, failed to extemporize an answer to his own remark.

      At the next stop they encountered the same gruff show of inhospitality, and all they could elicit from the shock-headed proprietor was another direction, in broken English, to try the Russian priest.

      "I'll make one more try," said Emerson, between his teeth, gratingly, as they swung out into the darkness a second time. "If that doesn't succeed, then I'll take possession again. I won't be passed on all night this way."

      "The 'buck' will certainly show us to the straw," said "Fingerless"

       Fraser.

      "The what?"

      "The 'buck'—the sky-dog—oh, the priest!"

      But when, a mile farther on, they drew up before a white pile surmounted by a dimly discerned Greek cross, no sign of life was to be seen, and their signals awakened no response.

      "Gone!—and they knew it."

      The vicious manner in which Emerson handled his whip as he said the words betrayed his state of mind. Three weeks of unvarying hardship and toilsome travel had worn out both men, and rendered them well-nigh desperate. Hence they wasted no words when, for the fourth time, their eyes caught the welcome sight of a shining radiance in the gloom of the gathering night. The trail-weary team stopped of its own accord.

      "Unhitch!" ordered Emerson, doggedly, as he began to untie the ropes of the sled. He shouldered the sleeping-bags, and made toward the light that filtered through the crusted windows, followed by Fraser similarly burdened. But as they approached they saw at once that this was no cannery; it looked more like a road-house or trading-post, for the structure was low and it was built of logs. Behind and connected with it by a covered hall or passageway crouched another squat building of the same character, its roof piled thick with a mass of snow, its windows glowing. Those warm squares of light, set into the black walls and overhung by white-burdened eaves, gave the place the appearance of a Christmas-card, it was so snug and cozy. Even the glitter was there, caused by the rays refracted from the facets of the myriad frost-crystals.

      They mounted the steps of the nigh building, and, without knocking, flung the door open, entered, then tossed their bundles to the floor. With a sharp exclamation at this unceremonious intrusion, an Indian woman, whom they had surprised, dropped her task and regarded them, round-eyed.

      "We're all right this time," observed Emerson, as he swept the place with his eyes. "It's a store." Then to the woman he said, briefly: "We want a bed and something to eat."

      On every side the walls were shelved with merchandise, while the counter carried a supply of clothing, skins, and what not; a cylindrical stove in the centre of the room emanated a hot, red glow.

      "This looks like the Waldorf to me," said "Fingerless" Fraser, starting to remove his parka, the fox fringe on the hood of which was white from his breath.

      "What you want?" demanded the squaw, coming forward.

      Boyd, likewise divesting himself of his furs, noticed that she was little more than a girl—a native, undoubtedly; but she was neatly dressed, her skin was light, and her hair twisted into a smooth black knot at the back of her head.

      "Food! Sleep!" he replied to her question.

      "You can't stop here," the girl asserted, firmly.

      "Oh yes, we can," said Emerson. "You have plenty of room, and there's lots of food"—he indicated the shelves of canned goods.

      The squaw, without moving, raised her voice and called: "Constantine!

       Constantine!"

      A door in the farther shadows opened, and the tall figure of a man emerged, advancing swiftly, his soft soles noiseless beneath him.

      "Well, well! It's old Squirrel-Tail," cried Fraser. "Good-evening,

       Constantine."

      It was the copper-hued native who had rescued them from the river earlier in the day; but although he must have recognized them, his demeanor had no welcome in it. The Indian girl broke into a torrent of excited volubility, unintelligible to the white men.

      "You no stop here," said Constantine, finally; and, making toward the outer door, he flung it open, pointing out into the night.

      "We've come a long way, and we're tired," Emerson argued, pacifically.

       "We'll pay you well."

      Constantine only replied with added firmness, "No," to which the other retorted with a flash of rising anger, "Yes!"

      He faced the Indian with his back to the stove, his voice taking on a determined note. "We won't leave here until we are ready. We're tired, and we're going to stay here—do you understand? Now tell your 'klootch' to get us some supper. Quick!"

      The breed's face blazed. Without closing the door, he moved directly upon the interloper, his design recognizable in his threatening attitude; but before he could put his plan into execution, a soft voice from the rear of the room halted him.

      "Constantine," it said.

      The travellers whirled to see, standing out in relief against the darkness of the passage whence the Indian had just come a few seconds before, the golden-haired girl of the storm, to whom they had been indebted for their rescue. She advanced, smiling pleasantly, enjoying their surprise.

      "What is the trouble?"

      "These men no stop here!" cried Constantine violently. "You speak! I make them go."

      "I—I—beg pardon," began Emerson. "We didn't intend to take forcible possession, but we're played out—we've been denied shelter everywhere—we felt desperate—"

      "You tried the canneries above?" interrupted the girl.

      "Yes."

      "And they referred you to the priest? Quite so." She laughed softly, her voice a mellow contralto. "The Father has been gone for a month; he wouldn't have let you in if he'd been there."

      She addressed the Indian girl in Aleut and signalled to Constantine, at which the two natives retired—Constantine reluctantly, like a watch-dog whose suspicions are not fully allayed.

      "We're glad of an opportunity to thank you for your timely service this afternoon," said Emerson. "Had we known you lived here, we certainly should not have intruded in this manner." He found himself growing hotly uncomfortable as he began to realize the nature of his position, but the young woman spared him further apologies by answering, carelessly:

      "Oh, that was nothing. I've been expecting you hourly. You see, Constantine's little brother has the measles, and I had to get to him before the natives could give the poor little fellow a Russian bath and then stand him out in the snow. They have only one treatment for all diseases. That's why I didn't stop and give you more explicit directions this morning."

      "If your—er—father—" The girl shook her head.

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