Then the weight of Grouse Piet fell upon them, and his great hands groped for Challoner’s neck.  His thick fingers found Durant’s beard first, then fumbled for Challoner, and got their hold.  Ten seconds of their terrific grip would have broken his neck.  But the fingers never closed.  A savage cry of agony burst from Grouse Piet’s lips, and with that cry, ending almost in a scream, came the snap of great jaws and the rending snarl of fangs in the darkness.  Durant heard, and with a great heave of his massive body he broke free from Challoner’s grip, and leapt to his feet.  In a flash Challoner was at his bunk, facing his enemies with the revolver in his hand.

Everything had happened quickly.  Scarcely more than a minute had passed since the overturning of the table, and now, in the moment when the situation had turned in his favour, a sudden swift and sickening horror seized upon Challoner.  Bloody and terrible there rose before him the one scene he had witnessed that day in the big cage where Miki and the wolf-dog had fought.  And there—­in that darkness of the cabin—­

He heard a moaning cry and the crash of a body to the floor.

“Miki, Miki,” he cried.  “Here!  Here!”

He dropped his revolver and sprang to the door, flinging it wide open.

“For God’s sake get out!” he cried.  “Get out!”

A bulk dashed past him into the night.  He knew it was Durant.  Then he leapt to the dark shadows on the floor and dug his two hands into the loose hide at the back of Miki’s neck, dragging him back, and shouting his name.  He saw Grouse Piet crawling toward the door.  He saw him rise to his feet, silhouetted for a moment against the starlight, and stagger out into the night.  And then he felt Miki’s weight slinking down to the floor, and under his hands the dog’s muscles grew limp and saggy.  For two or three minutes he continued to kneel beside him before he closed the cabin door and lighted another lamp.  He set up the overturned table and placed the lamp on it.  Miki had not moved.  He lay flat on his belly, his head between his forepaws, looking up at Challoner with a mute appeal in his eyes.

Challoner reached out his two arms.

“Miki!”

In an instant Miki was up against him, his forefeet against his breast, and with his arms about the dog’s shoulders Challoner’s eyes took in the floor.  On it were wet splashes and bits of torn clothing.

His arms closed more tightly.

“Miki, old boy, I’m much obliged,” he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The next morning Challoner’s outfit of three teams and four men left north and west for the Reindeer Lake country on the journey to his new post at the mouth of the Cochrane.  An hour later Challoner struck due west with a light sledge and a five-dog team for the Jackson’s Knee.  Behind him followed one of MacDonnell’s Indians with the team that was to bring Nanette to Fort O’ God.