But though Ralph listened to his brother's words he seemed to pay little heed. The blow had fallen on him with stunning force. Nick had seen Aim-sa; he had been with her that day, perhaps all day. And at the thought he broke out in a sweat. Something seemed to rise up in his throat and choke him.
"You look that glad. Maybe you've had a good time."
Ralph's words came as though he were thinking aloud.
"Glad, man? Glad? Ay, I am that, surely. She said as she'd been on the watch fer me ever since the storm quit. She said as she wanted to hunt wi' me."
"An' why not? I ain't lyin', I guess. I 'lows she ain't like to say they things fer passin' time. She was allus easy an' free wi' me. Mebbe you're kind o' quiet. Wimmin mostly likes them as ken talk."
Ralph's eyes darkened. His set face became more rigid. Then suddenly a harsh laugh broke from his unmoving lips.
"Guess you're crazed, Nick. That woman's foolin' ye."
Then he swung about as the sound of a violent struggle came from among the dogs. It was the saving interruption. Another moment and the brooding hate of the two men would have broken loose. Nick turned, too. And he was just in time; for one of the huskies was down and the rest of the train were upon him, bent on tearing out the savage life. Nick clubbed them right and left, nor did he desist till the torn beast was upon his feet again, ready to face his antagonists with undiminished courage. The husky knows no other termination to a quarrel than the fight to the death.
It took Nick some minutes to restore peace among his dogs, and by the time this was accomplished his own feelings had calmed. Ralph, recognizing the danger of his mood, had gripped himself sternly, and returned to his cooking.
And so the crisis was passed and the disaster temporarily averted. But in their hearts both men knew that the savage wild, ingrained in their natures, would not always be so easily stifled. Unless they parted, a dire calamity must surely befall.
The forest gloom is broken by gladdening beams of sunlight. They sketch a mazy fretwork pattern of light and shade on the dank underlay of rotting vegetation which the melting snow has laid bare. The air is weighted down with heavy, resinous odours, and an enervating warmth has descended to the depths of the lower forests. But Winter has not yet spread its wings for its last flight. Spring's approach has been heralded by its feathered trumpeters, garbed in their sober plumage. It is on its way, that is all. The transition of the seasons is at hand. Winter still resists, and the gentle legions of Spring have yet to fight out their annual battle. The forests are astir with wild, furred life; the fierce life which emphasizes the solitude of the mountain world. The pine-cones scrunch under the feet of the prowling beast as he moves solemnly upon his dread way; there is a swish of bush or a snapping of wood as some startled animal seeks cover; or a heavy crashing of branches, as the mighty-antlered moose, solemn-eyed, unheeding, thrusts himself through the undergrowth.