“Fog’s down again and the outer ice splitting up. If the wind hauls around into the east’ard, we’ll be free soon enough now. Blood and wounds! A month we’ve been fighting this cursed ice. Now, Crawford, what’s to do with ye? If the ice stops movin’ to-night, I’ll have that bark of yours. Come over and hang Moses Deakin, eh? Let ’em try it! If they come, you’re here for hostage; if they come not, then ye lied to me and have a weak crew.” Shrewd reasoning enough, and Crawford was keenly alarmed by it. Deakin leaned forward, clawed his great beard, grinned, and shot forth a direct question. “So ye thought to sneak into the bay and steal the Star Woman from me, eh?” “No.” “That’s a lie. Ha! Put steel into me, will ye? I say again, that’s a lie! South sea passage, eh? Ye knew well enough there was none. ’Twas the Star Woman ye wanted. I know when a man tells the truth, Crawford. It was a lie ye spoke about the south sea passage, and the truth about the green star. So ye were on your way to her, eh? There’s wizardry in that, or ye’d never ha’ found me on the ice. Aye, wizardry! And as ye said, the star brought ye here. It’s a warlock ye are, no doubt about it.” Crawford was somewhat bewildered by all this, but the gaze of his captor settled and sobered him. Deakin sucked at his pipe, while his abnormally large eyes fastened upon his prisoner in a gaze that was oddly unwinking. Indeed, from time to time the lids, instead of drooping, lifted slightly and widened. Once before had Crawford seen just such a stare as this, but then in the eyes of a woman. That was years ago in Ireland. He remembered the cold and rainy night, with Phelim Burke sitting across the campfire, and the old hag wandering in through the lines; the Wicklow Witch, they called her. He remembered how she had squatted by the fire, staring from him to Phelim Burke with that queer, momentary distending of her eyes; and she had talked of Granuaile and Red Hugh and Brian O’Rourke and others of the mighty dead, as though she knew them well. With an effort, Crawford forced himself back to the present situation. He spoke quietly. “Is this honest treatment of a guest, Moses Deakin? I came freely with you----” “Sink you and your fine words!” The Bostonnais breathed deeply, his wide nostrils flaring, and removed the pipe to scratch at his two-pronged tangle of grizzled beard. He reverted at once to his own chosen subject. “That French buccaneer, Frontin, gave ye news of her, and the star brought ye here. Ay, that’ll be the way of it. I’ll do ye no harm, Crawford, nor the star neither, for I’ll need to walk carefully with warlocks, and can take no chances. A Cree wizard told me two year ago that no weapon or hand o’ man could kill me, and that I’d come to my end only by the gift of a woman. So I ha’ naught to do with women, unless it be the Star Woman. She always smiles at me, so I know she be right friendly and well-disposed.”