frozen fish they had earned so well. They
wondered why it was not forthcoming. When they received it they would
lie on it, to warm it with the heat of their bodies, and then gnaw off
the thawed portions. They were very wise, these dogs. But to-night there
was no fish, and they whined for it.

"Dog feed all gone?"

"Yep," said the small man.

"Hell! I'll silence these brutes anyway."

He went to the door and laid onto them so that they slunk away into the
shadows. But they did not bury themselves in the snow and sleep. They
continued to prowl round the tent, hunger-mad and desperate.

"We've only got enough grub left for ourselves now," said the big man;
"and none too much at that. I guess I'll put you on half-rations."

He laughed as if it was the hugest joke. Then rolling himself in a
robe, he lay down and slept.

The little man did not sleep. He was still turning over the thought that
had come to him. Outside in the atrocious cold the whining malamutes
crept nearer and nearer. Savage were they, Indian raised and sired by a
wolf. And now, in the agonies of hunger, they cried for fish, and there
was none for them, only kicks and curses. Oh, it was a world of ghastly
cruelty! They howled their woes to the weary moon.

"Short rations, indeed," mumbled the little man. He crawled into his
sleeping bag, but he did not close his eyes. He was watching.

About dawn he rose. An evil dawn it was, sallow, sinister and askew.

The little man selected the heavy-handled whip for the job. Carefully he
felt its butt, then he struck. It was a shrewd blow and a neatly
delivered, for the little man had been in the business before. It fell
on the big man's head, and he crumpled up. Then the little man took some
rawhide thongs and trussed up his victim. There lay the big man, bound
and helpless, with a clotted blood-hole in his black hair.

Then the little man gathered up the rest of the provisions. He looked
around carefully, as if fearful of leaving anything behind. He made a
pack of the food and lashed it on his back. Now he was ready to start.
He knew that within fifty miles, travelling to the south, he would
strike a settlement. He was safe.

He turned to where lay the unconscious body of his partner. Again and
again he kicked it; he cursed it; he spat on it. Then, after a final
look of gloating hate, he went off and left the big man to his fate.

At last, at long last, the Worm had turned.

CHAPTER X

The dog