Didn't_ you bite? Two thousand miles afoot; three months of
Hades; for nothing. That's biting some."

"_Well!_" The speaker's face was convulsed, and Grant's flamed with an
answering anger. They glared at each other for a moment. "Don't blame
me. You fell for it, too."

"I----" Mort checked his rushing words.

"Yes, _you_! Now, what are you going to do about it? Welsh?"

"I'm going through to Nome." The sight of his partner's rage had set
Mort to shaking with a furious desire to fly at his throat, but
fortunately, he retained a spark of sanity.

"Then shut up, and quit chewing the rag. You--talk too much."

Mort's eyes were bloodshot; they fell upon the carbine under the sled
lashings, and lingered there, then wavered. He opened his lips,
reconsidered, spoke softly to the team, then lifted the heavy dog whip
and smote the Malemutes with all his strength.

The men resumed their journey without further words, but each was
cursing inwardly.

"So! I talk too much," Grant thought. The accusation struck in his mind
and he determined to speak no more.

"He blames me," Cantwell reflected, bitterly. "I'm in wrong again and he
couldn't keep his mouth shut. A fine partner, he is!"

All day they plodded on, neither trusting himself to speak. They ate
their evening meal like mutes; they avoided each other's eyes. Even the
guide noticed the change and looked on curiously.

There were two robes and these the partners shared nightly, but their
hatred had grown so during the past few hours that the thought of lying
side by side, limb to limb, was distasteful.

Yet neither dared suggest a division of the bedding, for that would have
brought further words and resulted in the crash which they longed for,
but feared. They stripped off their furs, and lay down beside each other
with the same repugnance they would have felt had there been a serpent
in the couch.

This unending malevolent silence became terrible. The strain of it
increased, for each man now had something definite to cherish in the
words and the looks that had passed. They divided the camp work with
scrupulous nicety, each man waited upon himself and asked no favors. The
knowledge of his debt forever chafed Cantwell; Grant resented his
companion's lack of gratitude.

Of course they spoke occasionally--it was beyond human endurance to
remain entirely dumb--but they conversed in monosyllables, about trivial
things, and their voices were throaty, as if the effort