In its glow his face was of a strange colour. He had been under
strain. The hand that held the burning match was unsteady. "Strange,
very strange," he was saying, as if to himself. And then:
"Preposterous! I will go back and tell Mukoki. He is shivering. He is
afraid. He believes that Tavish is in league with the devil. He says
that the dogs know, and that they have warned him. Queer. Monstrously
queer. And interesting. Eh?"
He went out. David stood where he was, looking about him in the blurred
light of the lamp over his head. He almost expected Tavish to creep out
from some dark corner; he half expected to see him move from under the
dishevelled blankets in the bunk at the far end of the room. It was a
big room, twenty feet from end to end, and almost as wide, and after a
moment or two he knew that he was the only living thing in it, except a
small, gray mouse that came fearlessly quite close to his feet. And then
he saw a second mouse, and a third, and about him, and over him, he
heard a creeping, scurrying noise, as of many tiny feet pattering. A
paper on the table rustled, a series of squeaks came from the bunk, he
felt something that was like a gentle touch on the toe of his moccasin,
and looked down.
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