“Escape?” he muttered. “To be sure. I had forgotten I must use finesse in quitting here.”
“Faster! The dogs are swinging in,” she warned.
Dix made sure the heavy door of the long, low structure was fast behind him before searching the shadows of the room. Then a seed of light budded and blossomed and he beheld her standing by a lamp, her profile that of a child if not for the heavy shadow sorrow had laid upon it.
Outside the dogs were making the night hideous, while the harsh voice of old Cumber occasionally roared some order. As Dix leaned against the door, striving to coordinate his thoughts, the girl threw some pine-knots on the hearth of the huge fireplace and set them to blazing. Warmth and light filled the place, and if not for the dogs and the girl’s melancholy mien Dix would have pronounced the retreat most comfortable. For the cold rain was now beating steadily on the roof and the coziness of the open fire suggested confidences.
“Please step in here to see uncle while I get you something to eat,” she listlessly invited.
He furtively studied her small face as he advanced. It was her slight stature that had induced him to think of her as a mere child.
A glimpse of the misery in her wide eyes bespoke the woman who had suffered not a little.
“Who is it, Florence?” called a weak voice from an adjoining room.
She lighted a candle and passed into the room, announcing, “Mr. Bruce Dix, of the city, lost his way and here for the night, Uncle.”
Dix gazed in pity at the sunken face of the sick man. In the prime he must have presented a fine figure of a man, but now he was woefully emaciated. Only his eyes seemed alive and in the feeble light of the candle they glowed like coals.
The man nodded to Dix and motioned him to approach closer. At the same time the girl glided to the door, saying, “He’ll talk with you while I’m preparing your supper, Uncle.”
She had barely crossed the threshold before the sick man had seized Dix’s hand, scanned him with burning gaze, and then whispered, “You look clean and honest. Thank God for that! Hush! Did Cumber come in?”
“He’s outside,” soothed Dix. “Your servant—”
“Servant!” bitterly interrupted Dessel, his wasted features grimacing. “Master is the better word. The girl and I are his prisoners. It doesn’t matter about me as my time is short. But it’s eating my soul out to think of her being left.”
“Prisoners?” gasped Dix.
“Softly. She doesn’t know the worst. She doesn’t know he believes he must keep us here. He believes evil awaits us if we return to civilization. That’s why he got the dogs, to keep us here—to keep others out.”
“It’s damnable!” gritted Dix.
“He mustn’t find you talking with me,” hurriedly whispered Dessel, half rising. “I didn’t suspect the truth till too late. You must take my niece out to the nearest settlement.”
“She worries about you more than about herself,” said Dix.
“She doesn’t realize the danger,” muttered Dessel. “Cumber will not go out for provisions. Once the snow comes and buries this part of the world—it means starvation!”
“I leave tomorrow to bring help,”
“No, no,” huskily protested Dessel. “I shall not last till you return. Once I’m gone no knowing what insane freak old Cumber will take. You must stay till the end and somehow manage to take her with you. Promise me as you’re a man you’ll stand by her.”
“By all that’s good in the world I promise,” solemnly assured Dix.
“You’ve made it easier for me,” sighed Dessel, closing his eyes. “You must get a good start with the boat while Cumber sleeps. Pass through Little Purgatory. This rain will flood all the swamps south of it. You can go for miles and miles in the boat. It’ll be a hard rub, a good seventy-five miles if you go south. If you strike west to hit the traveled trail between Caribou Lake and Clear River, it means fifty miles and you can’t use the boats except in crossing the lake. I fear Cumber would follow you with the dogs if you took that course.”
“She shall get through safely. If you could hold out for a while—”
“Sh-h-h!” cautioned Dessel, his eyes flying open. “Leave me. Quick!”
Dix glided back to the living-room and had scarcely seated himself before the blaze than the door opened and Cumber entered. He slowly advanced to the fire, his frowning gaze never leaving the newcomer’s pale face. “What do you want here?” was his abrupt query.
“Food, rest. I lost my way,” replied Dix, fearful lest the madman spring upon him.
The deep set eyes leered at him mockingly. “You were pretty near this place before losing your way. You were aiming in this direction.”
Dix patiently explained his experience in wandering from the Caribou trail, but even as he spoke he knew old Cumber’s thoughts were not following the recital. He was wandering among suspicions, dallying with half-formed plans, cunningly arranging plots, all of which were hostile and deadly to the stranger. As Dix concluded, Cumber wheeled and glared at the candle in the sick room. “Who took that in there?” he demanded.
“The young lady.”
He snarled in his thick beard, sprang into the room and blew out the candle. On returning to the living-room he all but closed Dessel’s door. Then his mood lighted up with some fierce joviality which caused him to rub his hairy hands and chuckle deep in his throat. Dix decided it was the baying of the dogs, for their master was cocking his head as though weighing the individual notes and appraising the total effect.
“Brave, brave voices,” he gleefully cried. “And they are hungry.”
“Why do you have them here?” boldly asked Dix.
Cumber stealthily gave him the tail of his eye and readily explained, “To haul the sled in winter. They’ll make a brave team.”
“Great scheme,” endorsed Dix. “And you made the sled?”
To his surprise Cumber motioned him to follow and led the way through the kitchen, where the girl was busy with coffee making. Opening a door to a shed Cumber proudly pointed. Sure enough he had a sled, a long, narrow affair, homemade yet serviceable and built along the lines of the travois sled of the woodsmen. Only unlike the travois, it was boxed in like a sleigh, the back being unusually high.
“One could ride very comfortably in that,” approved Dix, noting how the runners had been shod with iron.
“Aye. And ride far,” muttered Cumber, turning away.
“There is room for but one,” added Dix.
“Only one,” agreed Cumber, snapping his finger joints excitedly. “It will travel smoothly. Nothing at all for my pets to haul. I used the hoops of the kerosene barrel on the runners.”
“You may have your supper
