As this remarkable stranger, looking more like a Norse war god than a
mere human being, reached one signal after another, he passed it
without pausing for examination until he had gained a point about half
way to the coast. Then he came to an abrupt halt and studied the
surrounding snow intently. He had run across the trail made by Arsenic
and his fellows a few hours earlier. After an examination of the
sprawling footprints, the big man uttered a peculiar snort of
satisfaction, and again pushed on with increased speed. An hour later
he stood, concealed by darkness, on the verge of the cliffs enclosing
Locked Harbour, gazing interestedly down on the fire-lit beach, the
half-revealed schooner, the feasting savages, and the recumbent, dimly
discerned figure of Cabot Grant, their prisoner.
CHAPTER XX.
COMING OF THE MAN-WOLF.
Once Arsenic went to where Cabot was lying, and, grinning cheerfully,
remarked: "Tea, shug. Plenty, yes." Then he laughed immoderately, as
did several other Indians who were listening admiringly to this flight
of eloquence in the white man's own tongue.
"Oh, clear out, you grinning baboon," growled Cabot. "I only hope I'll
live to get even with you for this day's work."
The Indians were evidently so pleased at having drawn a retort from
their prisoner that he declined to gratify them further, or to speak
another word, though for some time Arsenic continued to beguile him
with his tiresome "Tea, shug," etc.
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