eyes always direct, eager, interested; the lips were tight shut and the cheeks were thin, but—there was no doubt of his identity.
"Eric Hedon!" Geoff gasped. "Eric Hedon! We shot Eric!"
He heard the hard breathing and the groan of Brunton beside him. Geoff stared into Brunton's face and then at Latham. The man stared back at him; and for the moment there was sense in neither face. Then Latham looked down again.
"It is Eric Hedon," he said.
How he had come there, travelling alone over the ice to the north, they could not ask; he lay heavily, a weight in their arms.
A figure approached from the direction of the camp; it was Koehler following the dogs. He had heard the shots and probably seen the quarry fall. The three men looked at each other; then, leaving Hedon to the others, Geoff rose and went to meet the doctor. Koehler began running eagerly, thinking that game had been taken.
"Good work, Geoff!" he hailed. "You got him?"
