he soon had, first a
smoke, then a blaze. Not long after this, he was turning a carefully
picked and cleaned fowl over a cheerful flame.

Having broiled this to a turn, he shared it with the dog, then lay down
to sleep. Before the sweet oblivion of sleep quieted his aching
muscles, the old haunting questions came back to him, "What land? What
people?" There were but two questions now; the third had been
temporarily solved; they still had a bird for breakfast, and that there
were others to be caught he did not doubt.

CHAPTER XVII

OUT OF THE NIGHT

After Marian and Lucile had heard the crash against the door of the
boarded-up house, and had stilled their wildly beating hearts, they
dragged themselves halfway out of their sleeping-bags and sat up.

"What was it?" Marian repeated. Her teeth were chattering so she could
hardly whisper.

"It saw the light from the seal-oil lamp," Lucile whispered. A cold
chill ran up her back. "Sh! Listen!"

It was a tense moment. A dead silence hovered over the room. Had they
heard a sound as of low moaning or whining, or was it the wind?

"Marian," whispered Lucile, "what sort of a sound does a polar bear
make?"

"I don't know," Marian shivered.

"Whatever it is, we're not going to open that door."

"I--I don't know." The moan came distinctly now, and a scratching
sound. "Perhaps we ought. Perhaps--perhaps it is some one in trouble."

Lucile was silent; she had not thought of that.

For five minutes they sat there listening. Not a word passed between
them. Now and again there came that awful, low moan and the
scratching. Save for the dismal wail of the wind that had arisen and
was singing about the corners of the house there was no other sound.
The seal-oil lamp in the corner flickered constantly, sending a weird
yellow light dancing from floor to ceiling.

"Lucile," said Marian at last, "I can't stand it any longer. If it's
someone in distress, they'll surely freeze, and then we could never
forgive ourselves. The chain will let the door open a crack. If it's
a bear, or a wolf, or a wild dog, he can't break the chain. If it's
someone, whoever he is, even if he's drunk, we ought to help him."

Lucile shivered, but she arose and, fumbling about, found the butcher
knife.

"I'll stand by with the knife." She followed Marian, as they tiptoed
toward the door.

The moon was shining brightly through the window. Whatever was at the
door, they woul