Tavish, if he had been caught in
the twilight darkness and had waited for the moon to rise, would be
showing up soon.
He walked to the side of the cabin and looked back. Quite distinctly he
could see Tavish's meat, suspended from a stout sapling that projected
straight out from under the edge of the roof. It hung there darkly, a
little in shadow, swinging gently in the wind that had risen, and
tap-tap-tapping against the logs. David moved toward it, gazing at the
edge of the forest in which he thought he had heard a sound that was
like the creak of a sledge runner. He hoped it was Tavish returning. For
several moments he listened with his back to the cabin. Then he turned.
He was very close to the thing hanging from the sapling. It was swinging
slightly. The moon shone on it, and then--Great God! A face--a human
face! A face, bearded, with bulging, staring eyes, gaping mouth--a grin
of agony frozen in it! And it was tapping, tapping, tapping!
He staggered back with a dreadful cry. He swayed to the door, groped
blindly for the latch, stumbled in clumsily, like a drunken man. The
horror of that lifeless, grinning face was in his voice. He had awakened
the Missioner, who was sitting up, staring at him.
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