At this instant the door shook with a heavy rap-rap, and their
quick glances noted the lifting of the latch. But they had
survived similar situations before. Harrington never broke a
note. Madeline shot through the waiting door to the inner room.
The broom went hurtling under the bunk, and by the time Cal
Galbraith and Louis Savoy got their heads in, Malemute Kid and
Prince were in each other's arms, wildly schottisching down the
room.
As a rule, Indian women do not make a practice of fainting on
provocation, but Madeline came as near to it as she ever had in
her life. For an hour she crouched on the floor, listening to the
heavy voices of the men rumbling up and down in mimic thunder.
Like familiar chords of childhood melodies, every intonation,
every trick of her husband's voice swept in upon her, fluttering
her heart and weakening her knees till she lay half-fainting
against the door. It was well she could neither see nor hear when
he took his departure.
'When do you expect to go back to Circle City?' Malemute Kid
asked simply.
'Haven't thought much about it,' he replied. 'Don't think till
after the ice breaks.' 'And Madeline?'
He flushed at the question, and there was a quick droop to his
eyes.
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