What she said they did not hear, but she got him on his feet and led
him forward. He walked as a dead man might walk, and when he entered
the open air gazed forth wonderingly upon the muddy sweep of the Yukon.
The crowd had formed by the bank, about a pine tree. A boy, engaged in
running a rope over one of the branches, finished his task and slid
down the trunk to the ground. He looked quickly at the palms of his
hands and blew upon them, and a laugh went up. A couple of wolf-dogs,
on the outskirts, bristled up to each other and bared their fangs. Men
encouraged them. They closed in and rolled over, but were kicked aside
to make room for St. Vincent.
Corliss came up the bank to Frona. "What's up?" he whispered. "Is it
off?"
She tried to speak, but swallowed and nodded her head.
"This way, Gregory." She touched his arm and guided him to the box
beneath the rope.
Corliss, keeping step with them, looked over the crowd speculatively
and felt into his jacket-pocket. "Can I do anything?" he asked,
gnawing his under lip impatiently. "Whatever you say goes, Frona. I
can stand them off."
She looked at him, aware of pleasure in the sight. She knew he would
dare it, but she knew also that it would be unfair. St. Vincent had
had his chance, and it was not right that further sacrifice should be
made. "No, Vance.
Pages:
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345