To Win or to Die Part 28

"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, rushing 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."

He broke up the cake and threw it piece after piece, each being snapped up with avidity, till there was no more, when the poor brute whined and licked Bel's hand, and then turned, crawled nearer to the fire, laid his great rough head across Dallas's foot, and lay blinking up at him, with the ice and snow which matted his dense coat melting fast.

"Poor beggar!" said Dallas. "He has been having a rough time."

The dog whined softly, and the unpleasant odour of burning hair began to fill the place as his bushy tail was swept once into the glowing embers.

"Give him part of the moose bone, Dal," said Abel.

"If this blizzard keeps on we have only that to depend on, old fellow.

I want to help the dog, but I must think of you."

"Give it up," said Abel gloomily, as he laid a hand on his bandaged foot. "Give him what there is, and then let him lie down and die with us. The golden dream is all over now. Look! the poor brute just managed to struggle here. He's dying."

"No, settling down to sleep in the warm glow. Look how the water runs from his coat."

"Dying," said Abel positively. And the poor brute's actions seemed to prove that the last speaker was right, for he lay whining more and more softly, blinking at the fire with his eyes half-closed, and a shiver kept on running through him, while once when he tried to rise he uttered a low moan and fell over on to his side.

"Is he dead, Dal?" said Abel hoa.r.s.ely.

His cousin bent over the dog and laid his hand upon his throat, with the result that there was a low growling snarl and the eyes opened to look up, but only to close again, and the bushy tale tapped the floor a few times.

"Knows he is with friends, poor fellow!" said Dallas. "But he did not show much sense in coming to Starvation Hall."

"It was the fire that attracted him."

"Perhaps," said Dallas. "But I have a sort of fancy that we have met before."

"What!" cried Abel, brightening up, "you don't think--"

"Yes, I do. Did you notice that the poor brute limped with one of his hind-legs?"

"Yes, but--oh, impossible. A dog would not know you again like that.

You mean the one you saved from the ice."

"Yes, I do; but we shall see by daylight, such as it is. I say, though, if we do get home again, you and I, after our experience of this Arctic place, ought to volunteer for the next North Pole expedition."

Abel heaved a deep sigh.

"Look here, old fellow; you were brightening up, now you are going back again. Let's go to bed and have a good long sleep in the warm. What about the dog?"

"Yes, what about him?"

"I suppose we mustn't turn him out again on a night like this."

"Impossible."

"But you know what these brutes are. He'll be rousing up and eating our candles and belts--anything he can get hold of; but I suppose we must risk it."