o 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 choked them.
Meanwhile they continued to glow inwardly at a white heat.

Cantwell no longer felt the desire to merely match his strength against
Grant's; the estrangement had become too wide for that; a physical
victory would have been flat and tasteless; he craved some deeper
satisfaction. He began to think of the ax--just how or when or why he
never knew. It was a thin-bladed, polished thing of frosty steel, and
the more he thought of it the stronger grew his impulse to rid himself
once for all of that presence which exasperated him. It would be very
easy, he reasoned; a sudden blow, with the weight of his shoulders
behind it--he fancied he could feel the bit sink into Grant's flesh,
cleaving bone and cartilages in its course--a slanting downward stroke,
aimed at the neck where it joined the body, and he would be forever
satisfied. It would be ridiculously simple. He practised in the gloom of
evening as he felled spruce-trees for fire-wood; he guarded the ax
religiously; it became a living thing which urged him on to violence. He
saw it standing by the tent-fly when he closed his eyes to sleep; he
dreamed of it; he sought it out with his eyes when he first awoke. He
slid it loosely under the sled lashings every morning, thinking that its
use could not long be delayed.

As for Grant, the carbine dwelt forever in his mind, and his fingers
itched for it. He secretly slipped a cartridge into the chamber, and
when an occasional ptarmigan offered itself for a target he saw the
white spot on the breast of Johnny's reindeer parka, dancing