The thongs were loosening; his wrists were freer; with a cry that
sent the mouse scurrying to the floor he doubled himself half erect, and
fought like a madman. Five minutes later and he was free.
He staggered to his feet, and looked at his wrists. They were torn and
bleeding. His second thought was of Corporal Carr--and a weapon. The
man-hunter had taken the precaution to empty the chambers of Falkner's
revolver and rifle and throw his cartridges out in the snow. But his
skinning-knife was still in its sheath and belt, and he buckled it about
his waist. He had no thought of killing Carr, though he hated the man
almost to the point of murder. But his lips set in a grim smile as he
thought of what he WOULD do.
He knew that when Carr returned he would not enter at once into the
cabin. He was the sort of man who would never take an unnecessary chance.
He would go first to the little window--and look in. Falkner turned the
lamp-wick lower, and placed the lamp on the table directly between the
window and the bunk. Then he rolled his blankets into something like a
human form, and went to the window to see the effect. The bunk was in
deep shadow. From the window Corporal Carr could not see beyond the lamp.
Then Falkner waited, out of range of the window, and close to the door.
It was not long before he heard something above the wailing of the storm.
It was the whine of a dog, and he knew that a moment later the Corporal's
ghostly face was peering in at the window.
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