s! The dogs were closing in. Nearer and nearer they drew, headed
by a fierce Mackenzie River bitch. They wondered why their master did
not wake; they wondered why the little tent was so still; why no plume
of smoke rose from the slim stovepipe. All was oddly quiet and lifeless.
No curses greeted them; no whiplash cut into them; no strong arm jerked
them over the harness. Perhaps it was a primordial instinct that drew
them on, that made them strangely bold. Perhaps it was only the despair
of their hunger, the ache of empty bellies. Closer and closer they crept
to the silent tent.

Locasto opened his eyes. Within a foot of his face were the fangs of a
malamute. At his slight movement it drew back with a snarl, and
retreated to the door. Locasto could see the other dogs crouching and
eyeing him fixedly. What could be the matter? What had gotten into the
brutes? Where was the Worm? Where were the provisions? Why was the tent
flap open and the stove stone-cold? Then with a dawning comprehension
that he had been deserted, Locasto uttered a curse and tried to rise.

At first he thought he was stiff with cold, but a downward glance showed
him his condition. He was helpless. He grew sick at the pit of his
stomach, and glared at the dogs. They were drawing in on him. They
seemed to bulk suddenly, to grow huge and menacing. Their gleaming teeth
snapped in his face. He could fancy these teeth stripping the flesh from
his body, gnawing at his bones with drooling jaws. Violently he
shuddered. He must try to free himself, so that at least he could fight.

Grimly the Worm had done his work, but he had hardly reckoned on the
strength of this man. With a vast throe of fear Locasto tried to free
himself. Tenser, tenser grew the thongs; they strained, they bit into
his flesh, but they would not break. Yet as he relaxed it seemed to him
they were less tight. Then he rested for another effort.

Once again the gaunt, grey bitch was crawling up. He remembered how
often he had starved it, clubbed it until it could barely stand. Now it
was going to get even. It would snap at his throat, rip out his
windpipe, bury its fangs in his bleeding flesh. He cursed it in the old
way. With a spring it backed out again and stood with the others. He
made another giant effort. Once again he felt the thongs strain and
strain; then, when he ceased, he imagined they were still looser.

The dogs seemed to have lost all fear. They stood in a circle within a
fe