. . well, just pick it up, that's a good fellow."
"I'll no."
"Then I shall kill you," Corliss went on, in the same calm, passionless
way, at the same time drawing his hunting-knife from its sheath.
"And if I dinna?" the Scotsman queried stoutly, though cowering away.
Corliss pressed gently with the knife. The point of the steel entered
Tommy's back just where the heart should be, passed slowly through the
shirt, and bit into the skin. Nor did it stop there; neither did it
quicken, but just as slowly held on its way. He shrank back, quivering.
"There! there! man! Pit it oop!" he shrieked. "I maun gie in!"
Frona's face was quite pale, but her eyes were hard, brilliantly hard,
and she nodded approval.
"We're going to try this side, and shoot across from above," she called
to her father. "What? I can't hear. Tommy? Oh, his heart's weak.
Nothing serious." She saluted with her paddle. "We'll be back in no
time, father mine. In no time."
Stewart River was wide open, and they ascended it a quarter of a mile
before they shot its mouth and continued up the Yukon. But when they
were well abreast of the man on the opposite bank a new obstacle faced
them. A mile above, a wreck of an island clung desperately to the
river bed. Its tail dwindled to a sand-spit which bisected the river
as far down as the impassable bluffs.
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