His leathery face was
curiously white. He could not keep from shivering. There was a strange
smile on Billy's face, and a strange look in his eyes. Neither of the two
men had undressed for sleep, but their coats, and caps, and heavy mittens
were in the flames.
Billy rattled his handcuffs. Brokaw looked him squarely in the eyes.
"You ought to know this country," he said. "What'll we do?"
"The nearest post is sixty miles from here," said Billy.
"I know that," replied Brokaw. "And I know that Thoreau's cabin is only
twenty miles from here. There must be some trapper or Indian shack nearer
than that. Is there?" In the red glare of the fire Billy smiled. His
teeth gleamed at Brokaw. It was a lull of the wind, and he went close to
Brokaw, and spoke quietly, his eyes shining more and more with that
strange light that had come into them.
"This is going to be a big sight easier than hanging, or going to jail
for half my life, Brokaw--an' you don't think I'm going to be fool enough
to miss the chance, do you? It ain't hard to die of cold. I've almost
been there once or twice. I told you last night why I couldn't give up
hope--that something good for me always came on her birthday, or near to
it. An' it's come. It's forty below, an' we won't live the day out. We
ain't got a mouthful of grub. We ain't got clothes enough on to keep us
from freezing inside the shanty, unless we had a fire.
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