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thicket from opposite sides。 Suddenly； without warning； two peering
death's…heads confronted each other。 Suffering had so transformed them
that recognition was impossible。 They sprang to their feet；
shrieking with terror； and dashed away on their mangled stumps； and
falling at the cabin's door； they clawed and scratched like demons
till they discovered their mistake。
Occasionally they lapsed normal； and during one of these sane
intervals； the chief bone of contention； the sugar； had been divided
equally between them。 They guarded their separate sacks； stored up
in the cache； with jealous eyes； for there were but a few cupfuls
left； and they were totally devoid of faith in each other。 But one day
Cuthfert made a mistake。 Hardly able to move； sick with pain； with his
head swimming and eyes blinded； he crept into the cache； sugar
canister in hand； and mistook Weatherbee's sack for his own。
January had been born but a few days when this occurred。 The sun had
some time since passed its lowest southern declination； and at
meridian now threw flaunting streaks of yellow light upon the northern
sky。 On the day following his mistake with the sugarbag； Cuthfert
found himself feeling better； both in body and in spirit。 As
noontime drew near and the day brightened； he dragged himself
outside to feast on the evanescent glow； which was to him an earnest
of the sun's future intentions。 Weatherbee was also feeling somewhat
better； and crawled out beside him。 They propped themselves in the
snow beneath the moveless wind…vane； and waited。
The stillness of death was about them。 In other climes； when
nature falls into such moods； there is a subdued air of expectancy；
a waiting for some small voice to take up the broken strain。 Not so in
the North。 The two men had lived seeming eons in this ghostly peace。
They could remember no song of the past； they could conjure no song of
the future。 This unearthly calm had always been… the tranquil
silence of eternity。
Their eyes were fixed upon the north。 Unseen； behind their backs；
behind the towering mountains to the south； the sun swept toward the
zenith of another sky than theirs。 Sole spectators of the mighty
canvas； they watched the false dawn slowly grow。 A faint flame began
to glow and smoulder。 It deepened in intensity； ringing the changes of
reddish…yellow； purple； and saffron。 So bright did it become that
Cuthfert thought the sun must surely be behind it… a miracle； the
sun rising in the north！ Suddenly； without warning and without fading；
the canvas was swept clean。 There was no color in the sky。 The light
had gone out of the day。 They caught their breaths in half…sobs。 But
lo！ the air was aglint with particles of scintillating frost； and
there； to the north； the wind…vane lay in vague outline of the snow。 A
shadow！ A shadow！ It was exactly midday。 They jerked their heads
hurriedly to the south。 A golden rim peeped over the mountain's
snowy shoulder； smiled upon them an instant； then dipped from sight
again。
There were tears in their eyes as they sought each other。 A
strange softening came over them。 They felt irresistibly drawn
toward each other。 The sun was coming back again。 It would be with
them tomorrow； and the next day； and the next。 And it would stay
longer every visit； and a time would come when it would ride their
heaven day and night； never once dropping below the skyline。 There
would be no night。 The ice…locked winter would be broken； the winds
would blow and the forests answer； the land would bathe in the blessed
sunshine； and life renew。 Hand in hand； they would quit this horrid
dream and journey back to the Southland。 They lurched blindly forward；
and their hands met… their poor maimed hands； swollen and distorted
beneath their mittens。
But the promise was destined to remain unfulfilled。 The Northland is
the Northland； and men work out their souls by strange rules； which
other men； who have not journeyed into far countries； cannot come to
understand。
An hour later； Cuthfert put a pan of bread into the oven； and fell
to speculating on what the surgeons could do with his feet when he got
back。 Home did not seem so very far away now。 Weatherbee was rummaging
in the cache。 Of a sudden； he raised a whirlwind of blasphemy； which
in turn ceased with startling abruptness。 The other man had robbed his
sugar…sack。 Still； things might have happened differently； had not the
two dead men come out from under the stones and hushed the hot words
in his throat。 They led him quite gently from the cache； which he
forgot to close。 That consummation was reached； that something they
had whispered to him in his dreams was about to happen。 They guided
him gently； very gently； to the woodpile； where they put the axe in
his hands。 Then they helped him shove open the cabin door； and he felt
sure they shut it after him… at least he heard it slam and the latch
fall sharply into place。 And he knew they were waiting just without；
waiting for him to do his task。
'Carter！ I say； Carter！'
Percy Cuthfert was frightened at the look on the clerk's face； and
he made haste to put the table between them。
Carter Weatherbee followed； without haste and without enthusiasm。
There was neither pity nor passion in his face； but rather the
patient； stolid look of one who has certain work to do and goes
about it methodically。
'I say； what's the matter？'
The clerk dodged back； cutting off his retreat to the door； but
never opening his mouth。
'I say； Carter； I say； let's talk。 There's a good chap。'
The master of arts was thinking rapidly； now； shaping a skillful
flank movement on the bed where his Smith & Wesson lay。 Keeping his
eyes on the madman； he rolled backward on the bunk； at the same time
clutching the pistol。
'Carter！'
The powder flashed full in Weatherbee's face； but he swung his
weapon and leaped forward。 The axe bit deeply at the base of the
spine； and Percy Cuthfert felt all consciousness of his lower limbs
leave him。 Then the clerk fell heavily upon him； clutching him by
the throat with feeble fingers。 The sharp bite of the axe had caused
Cuthfert to drop the pistol； and as his lungs panted for release； he
fumbled aimlessly for it among the blankets。 Then he remembered。 He
slid a hand up the clerk's belt to the sheath…knife； and they drew
very close to each other in that last clinch。
Percy Cuthfert felt his strength leave him。 The lower portion of his
body was useless； The inert weight of Weatherbee crushed him…
crushed him and pinned him there like a bear under a trap。 The cabin
became filled with a familiar odor； and he knew the bread to be
burning。 Yet what did it matter？ He would never need it。 And there
were all of six cupfuls of sugar in the cache… if he had foreseen this
he would not have been so saving the last several days。 Would the
wind…vane ever move？ Why not' Had he not seen the sun today？ He
would go and see。 No； it was impossible to move。 He had not thought
the clerk so heavy a man。
How quickly the cabin cooled！ The fire must be out。 The cold was
forcing in。 It must be below zero already； and the ice creeping up the
inside of the door。 He could not see it； but his past experience
enabled him to gauge its progress by the cabin's temperature。 The
lower hinge must be white ere now。 Would the tale of this ever reach
the world？ How would his friends take it？ They would read it over
their coffee； most likely； and talk it over at the clubs。 He could see
them very clearly； 'Poor Old Cuthfert；' they murmured； 'not such a bad
sort of a chap； after all。' He smiled at their eulogies； and passed on
in search of a Turkish bath。 It was the same old crowd upon the
streets。 Strange； they did not notice his moosehide moccasins and
tattered German socks！ He would take a cab。 And after the bath a shave
would not be bad。 No； he would eat first。 Steak； and potatoes； and
green things how fresh it all was！ And what was that？ Squares of
honey； streaming liquid amber！ But why did they bring so much？ Ha！ ha！
he could never eat it all。 Shine！ Why certainly。 He put his foot on
the box。 The bootblack looked curiously up at him； and he remembered
his moosehide moccasins and went away hastily。
Hark！ The wind…vane must be surely spinning。 No； a mere singing in
his ears。 That was all… a mere singing。 The ice must have passed the
latch by now。 More likely the upper hinge was covered。 Between the
moss…chinked roof…poles； little points of frost began to appear。 How
slowly they grew！ No； not so slowly。 There was a new one； and there
another。 Two… three… four； they were coming too fast to count。 There
were two growing together。 And there； a third had joined them。 Why；
there were no more spots。 They had run together and formed a sheet。
Well； he would have company。 If Gabriel ever broke the silence of
the North； they would stand together； hand in hand； before the great
White Throne。 And God w