“Keep back!” he would cry. “Let me go! Let me go! Don’t put me under the ice! Bill Haines an’ his wife are there, an’ they’ll kill me, oh, oh!”
He talked, too, about Tim, and how he knew too much. He raved about Zell, the half-breed girl, and how he wanted her.
“I’ll git ye,” he shouted. “Tim won’t have ye. I’ll fix him.”
He then gave utterance to expressions which further revealed the baseness of his nature, and which Tom found hard to endure.
Thus all through the long night the man tossed and raved. Tom was very weary, and longed to sleep. But he did not dare to close his eyes. When he was not forcing Bill back into the bunk, he squatted near the stove and smoked his old blackened pipe. Although his body was tired, his mind was very active. He wondered what he should do with the sick white man. That it was his duty to stay by his side he was certain. But how was he to get word to that outlying band of Indians? It was necessary that they should be told of the condition of the Gikhi, that they might have a chance to return with the other natives who had avowed their loyalty. But he was helpless to do anything.
At times Tom went to the door, opened it and looked out. It was a cold night, and the Northern Lights were making a wonderful display. The stars, too, were exceptionally thick and bright. There was no moon, but with such lights in the heavens the night was not dark. All was still, save for the occasional snap of a frost-rent tree, or the distant howl of a lone wolf.
Thus hour after hour Tom kept his weary watch, while the man in the bunk tossed, fretted, and revealed his past life of shame.
