It was as if he had seen a little child going into the face
of a deadly peril, and at last he shouted out for some one to
bring back the Broken Man. But there was no answer from under his
window. The guard was gone. Nothing lay between him and escape--if
he could force the white birch bars from the window.
He thrust himself against them, using his shoulder as a battering-
ram. Not the thousandth part of an inch could he feel them give,
yet he worked until his shoulder was sore. Then he paused and
studied the bars more carefully. Only one thing would avail him,
and that was some object which he might use as a lever.
He looked about him, and not a thing was there in the room to
answer the purpose. Then his eyes fell on the splendid horns of
the caribou head. Black Roger's discretion had failed him there,
and eagerly David pulled the head down from the wall. He knew the
woodsman's trick of breaking off a horn from the skull, yet in
this room, without log or root to help him, the task was
difficult, and it was a quarter of an hour after he had last seen
the Broken Man before he stood again at the window with the
caribou horn in his hands.
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