feeling that, sooner or later, something was going to happen. There was
something altogether mysterious about the actions of these Chukches,
especially one great sullen fellow, who had come skulking about Johnny's
igloo just before he had turned in.

These natives were supposed to be trustworthy, but Johnny had his
misgivings and was on his guard. They had come in contact with
Russians, perhaps also with Orientals, and had learned treachery.

"And yet," thought Johnny, "what could they want from me? I paid them
well for my transportation. They sold their reindeer to the American
army for a fat price. They would be more than greedy if they wanted
more."

Nevertheless, the air of mystery hung about him like a dark cloud. He
could not sleep. And not being able to sleep, he meditated.

He had already begun the eternal round of thoughts that will revolve
through a fellow's brain at night, when he heard a sound--the soft crush
of a skin boot in the snow it seemed. He listened and thought he heard
it again, this time more distinctly, as if the person were approaching
his igloo. A chill crept up and down his spine. His right hand
involuntarily freed itself from the furs and sought the cold hilt of the
Russian knife. He had his army automatic, but where there are many ears
to hear a shot, a knife is better.

"What an ideal trap for treachery, this igloo! A villain need but creep
through tent-flaps, pause for a breath, then stealthily lift the deer
skin curtain. A stab or a shot, and all would be ended." These thoughts
sped through Johnny's mind.