lfulness and self-indulgence.

Back in the world outside he had made a brief essay in the prize-ring,
not without some success. He had been driven out, however, by an
epithet spontaneously applied by the fraternity: "Crying Joe
Hagland."

The trouble was, he could not control his emotions.

"For God's sake, say something!" he cried at the end of a long
silence. "This is as cheerful as a funeral!"

"Speak a piece yourself if you feel the want of entertainment,"
retorted Jack, without looking around.

"I wish to God I'd never come up to this forsaken country!" muttered
Joe. "I wish I was back this minute in a man's town, with lights
shining and glasses banging on the bar!"

This came too close to their own thoughts. They angrily silenced him.
Joe buried his face in his arms, and another silence succeeded.

It was broken by a new sound, a soft sound between a whisper and a
hum. It might have come from the pine-trees, which had many strange
voices, but it seemed to be right there in the room with them. It held
a dreadful suggestion of a human voice.

It had an electrical effect on the four men. Each made believe he had
heard nothing. Big Jack and Shand stared self-consciously into the
fire. Husky's hands holding the cards shook, and his face changed
colour. Joe lifted a livid white face, and his eyes rolled wildly. He
clutched the blankets and bit his lip to keep from crying out.

They moved their seats and shuffled their feet to break their hideous
silence. Joe began to chatter irrelevantly.

"A funeral, that's what it is! You're like a lot of damn mutes. Who's
dead, anyhow? The Irish do it better. Whoop things up! For God's sake,
Jack, dig up a bottle, and let's have one good hour!"

The other three turned to him, oddly grateful for the interruption.
Big Jack made no move to get the suggested bottle, nor had Joe
expected him to. The liquor was stored with the rest of the outfit in
the stable. None desired to have the door opened at that moment.

Young Joe's shaking voice rattled on: "I could drink a quart myself
without taking breath. Lord, this is enough to give a man a thirst!
What would you give for an old-fashioned skate, boys? I'd welcome a
few pink elephants, myself, after seeing nothing for days. What's the
matter with you all? Are you hypnotized? For the love of Mike, start
something!"

The pressure of dread was too great. The hurrying voice petered out,
and the shack was silent again. Husky made a