I
cannot make great talk. My words are few. The Fox says great
deeds are afoot this night. Good! Talk flows from his tongue like
the freshets of the spring, but he is chary of deeds.
'This night shall I do battle with the Wolf. I shall slay him, and
Zarinska shall sit by my fire. The Bear has spoken.' Though
pandemonium raged about him, 'Scruff' Mackenzie held his ground.
Aware how useless was the rifle at close quarters, he slipped
both holsters to the fore, ready for action, and drew his mittens
till his hands were barely shielded by the elbow gauntlets. He
knew there was no hope in attack en masse, but true to his boast,
was prepared to die with teeth fast-locked. But the Bear
restrained his comrades, beating back the more impetuous with his
terrible fist. As the tumult began to die away, Mackenzie shot a
glance in the direction of Zarinska. It was a superb picture. She
was leaning forward on her snow-shoes, lips apart and nostrils
quivering, like a tigress about to spring. Her great black eyes
were fixed upon her tribesmen, in fear and defiance. So extreme
the tension, she had forgotten to breathe. With one hand pressed
spasmodically against her breast and the other as tightly gripped
about the dog-whip, she was as turned to stone.
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