By the second day Johnny had found himself confining his associations to one person, who, to all appearances, was a fellow passenger, and not a member of the tribe.  He had learned to pitch his own igloo and hers.  Not five hours before he had hewn away a hard bank of snow and built there a shelf for his bed.  When his igloo was completed he had erected a second not many feet away.  This was for his fellow passenger.  In case anything should happen he felt that he would like to be near her, and she had shown by many little signs that she shared his feelings in this.

“In case something happened,” Johnny reflected drowsily.  He had a feeling that, sooner or later, something was going to happen.  There was something altogether mysterious about the actions of these Chukches, especially one great sullen fellow, who had come skulking about Johnny’s igloo just before he had turned in.

These natives were supposed to be trustworthy, but Johnny had his misgivings and was on his guard.  They had come in contact with Russians, perhaps also with Orientals, and had learned treachery.

“And yet,” thought Johnny, “what could they want from me?  I paid them well for my transportation.  They sold their reindeer to the American army for a fat price.  They would be more than greedy if they wanted more.”

Nevertheless, the air of mystery hung about him like a dark cloud.  He could not sleep.  And not being able to sleep, he meditated.

He had already begun the eternal round of thoughts that will revolve through a fellow’s brain at night, when he heard a sound—­the soft crush of a skin boot in the snow it seemed.  He listened and thought he heard it again, this time more distinctly, as if the person were approaching his igloo.  A chill crept up and down his spine.  His right hand involuntarily freed itself from the furs and sought the cold hilt of the Russian knife.  He had his army automatic, but where there are many ears to hear a shot, a knife is better.

“What an ideal trap for treachery, this igloo!  A villain need but creep through tent-flaps, pause for a breath, then stealthily lift the deer skin curtain.  A stab or a shot, and all would be ended.”  These thoughts sped through Johnny’s mind.

Scarcely breathing, he waited for other signs of life abroad at that hour of night—­a night sixteen hours long.  He heard nothing.

Finally, his mind took up again the endless chain of thought.  He had arrived safely at Khabarask, the terminus of the Russian line.  Here he had remained for three days, half in hiding, until the “Reindeer Special” had completed its loading and had started on its southern journey to the waiting doughboys.  During those three days he had made two startling discoveries; the short Russian of the broad shoulders and sharp chin, he of the envelope of diamonds, was in Khabarask.  Johnny had seen him in an eating place, and had had an opportunity to study him without being observed.  The man,