, Northwest Mounted Police, shuffled the greasy cards wearily, and laid them perfunctorily in little piles on the table before him. Then he swept them petulantly into a confused heap. He had played solitaire for two weeks, and the diversion had lost its attraction. The strain of the situation was getting on his nerves.
He pushed back his chair and walked to the single window that the hut boasted. From the lean-to behind the little shanty came the mournful whine of the sledge dogs. He gazed drearily out on the endless plain of white. As far as his eye could reach there was nothing 'to vary the monotonous miles of snow, save here and there a cluster of gaunt, naked trees.
"Bob!"
Marston turned from the window to the corner where Jack Evans lay tossing restlessly on his bunk. He raised the sufferer's head awkwardly, and poured a few drops between the parched lips.
"Well, old chap?" he asked.
Evans' eyes opened to rest curiously for a moment on Bob's face, then he whispered feebly:
"Been pretty bad, ain't I?"
Bob nodded.
"Yep," he said tersely. "Better now, though."
Evans closed his eyes an instant; the light hurt them.
"How's the grub?" he asked suddenly.
"Grub? Grub's all right—lots of it," replied Bob shortly, turning his back to Evans under pretense of lighting his pipe. Conscious that the sick man's eyes were on him, Bob crossed the room and began to poke the pitifully inadequate fire into a cheerier blaze.
"That," said Evans, slowly and deliberately, "is a darned lie!"
The stick in Bob's hand dropped with a crash to the floor.
"It ain't no use," continued Evans, "tryin' ter bluff me. Ye're a good feller, Bob, an' white clean through; but I ain't been so sick but what I know it's two week er more I been on this here bunk, an' the day afore I was taken down we was plannin' ter strike fer the fort. 'Cause why? 'Cause thar warn't only a week's grub left. Thet's why!"
Corporal Marston squinted at him a minute through the immense puffs of smoke he was emitting.
"You know too blamed much for your own good, you do," he growled.
"Thet ain't all neither," resumed the sick man, nervously plucking the fluffs of the coarse blanket. "The heavy storms air a-comin' on, wuss'n the one thet ketched us. 'Twouldn't hev been no easy job ter make the fort a week ago. Every day makes it wuss, dogs gettin' weaker an' weaker, an'"
"Shut up!" snarled Bob. Every nerve in his body seemed to jangle discordantly. He passed his hands over his eyes in an effort to still the violent throbbing in his head. Desperately he pulled himself together, knocked the ashes from his pipe, placed it carefully in his pocket, and marched over to the bed. "You shut up!" he repeated peremptorily, his hands stuck deep in his trousers pockets. "I'm in command of this expedition. All you've got to do is obey orders."
A little red flush of resentment tingled the pale, drawn features.
"I'm no chicken at this business," said Evans querulously. "Ten years I've been on duty in this God-forsaken country. Yer talk's jest baby talk, so it is. Don't ye think I know," he cried, his voice rising stronger in emotion, "thet it's sure death ter stay anuther day? I can't go, so I got ter cash in; but yer stayin' don't help none. You hike out fer the fort while you got the strength left. What's the use uv yer goin' down an' out jest 'cause I hev ter?"
Bob's lips twitched nervously.
"I ought to feel like smashing you for that," he said with painful slowness, "only you're sick—and—somehow, I guess I'm kind of out of sorts."
Neither of the men spoke for a time that seemed ages to them both. Finally, Evans raised himself painfully on his elbow.
"I'm in dead earnest, Bob, an' I'm goin' ter hev my say. I seen you kiss thet photergraph last night when you thought I was asleep. I ain't got a soul in all the world what cares a cuss about me. I ain't sayin' but it's my own fault; thet's neither 'ere ner thar. 'Tain't fittin' fer you ter stay. It's murder, thet's what it is—jest murder! An' I ain't a-goin' ter hev it on my conscience. An', so help me God," he finished solemnly, "ye're a-goin' ter make tracks!"
Bob moistened his lips with his tongue as he leaned over the bunk.
"There'll be a search party after us in a day or so," he said thickly.
"Search party nothin'"
But Bob's hand closed over the other's mouth. He turned Evans over with his face to the wall, and drew the coverings up around him.
"Go to sleep," he commanded sharply. "Maybe I'll go out by and by and try for a shot."