r-lapping the door.
Their breath tightened. They waited for the explosion of his gun.
None came. The crunching began again: it was heard down by the very
edge of the eaves. It mounted to the blunt ridge overhead; then it
ceased.

"He will not have seen aught," David Faed muttered.

"Listen, you. Listen by the door again." They talked in whispers.
Nothing; there was nothing to be heard. They crept back to the fire,
and stood there warming themselves, keeping their eyes on the latch.
It did not move. After a while Cooney slipped off to his hammock; Faed
to his bunk, alongside Lashman's. The Gaffer had picked up his book
again. The Snipe laid a couple of logs on the blaze, and remained
beside it, cowering, with his arms stretched out as if to embrace it.
His shapeless shadow wavered up and down on the bunks behind him; and,
across the fire, he still stared at the latch.

Suddenly the sick man's voice quavered out--

"It's not him they want--it's Bill! They're after Bill, out there!
That was Bill trying to get in. . . . Why didn't yer open? It was Bill,
I tell yer!"

At the first word the Snipe had wheeled right-about-face, and stood now,
pointing, and shaking like a man with ague.

"Matey . . . for the love of God . . ."

"I won't hush. There's something wrong here to-night. I can't sleep.
It's Bill, I tell yer. See his poor hammock up there shaking. . . ."

Cooney tumbled out with an oath and a thud. "Hush it, you white-livered
swine! Hush it, or by--" His hand went behind him to his knife-sheath.

"Dan Cooney"--the Gaffer closed his book and leaned out--"go back to
your bed."

"I won't, Sir. Not unless--"

"Go back."

"Flesh and blood--"

"Go back." And for the third time that night Cooney went back.

The Gaffer leaned a little farther over the ledge, and addressed the
sick man.

"George, I went to Bill's grave not six hours agone. The snow on it
wasn't even disturbed. Neither beast nor man, but only God, can break
up the hard earth he lies under. I tell you that, and you may lay to
it. Now go to sleep."

Long Ede crouched on the frozen ridge of the hut, with his feet in the
sleeping-bag, his knees drawn up, and the two guns laid across them.
The creature, whatever its name, that had tried the door, was nowhere to
be seen; but he decided to wait a few minutes on the chance of a shot;
that is, until the cold should drive him below. For the moment the
clear tingling air was d