The reckless daring of those two, perhaps at the
last moment, returning to their shelter on one final journey to save
some detail of their home. Then the awful penalty for their temerity.
Perhaps overwhelmed by smoke. Death--hideous, appalling death. Death,
a thousand times worse than that which, in the routine of their lives,
it was their work to mete out to the valuable fur bearers which yielded
them a means of existence.
A sudden question, not unaccompanied by fear, swept through his brain.
It was a question inspired by the belief that these men were fur
hunters. Who--who were they? He drew close up to each body in turn,
seeking identity where none was discoverable. A sweat broke upon his
temples. There was no sign in them. There was no human semblance
except for outline.
"God! If it should be----"
His sentence remained incompleted. A dreadful fear had broken it off.
He was gazing down upon the second body, in earnest, horrified
contemplation. Then to his amazement he was answered by Bud's familiar
voice.
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