[Philip Steele of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police by James Oliver Curwood]@TWC D-Link book
Philip Steele of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police

CHAPTER I
5/13

"Thought it would be a little more cheerful, you know.
Lord preserve us, listen to that!" He began walking up and down the hewn log floor of the cabin, his hands deep in his pockets, puffing out voluminous clouds of smoke.

It was not often that Philip Steele's face was unpleasant to look upon, but to-night it wore anything but its natural good humor.

It was a strong, thin face, set off by a square jaw, and with clear, steel-gray eyes in which just now there shone a strange glitter, as they rested for a moment upon the white skull over the fire.

From his scrutiny of the skull Steele turned to a rough board table, lighted by a twisted bit of cotton cloth, three-quarters submerged in a shallow tin of caribou grease.

In the dim light of this improvised lamp there were two letters, opened and soiled, which an Indian had brought up to him from Nelson House the day before.


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