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the snow。 The man cannot take off his mitten。 The stranger…man
shoots at him again； and this time the bullet goes by in the air。
Then the man takes the mitten in his teeth and pulls it off。 But
his hand is frozen and he cannot hold the revolver； and it fails in
the snow。 I look at the woman。 Her mitten is off； and the big
Colt's revolver is in her hand。 Three times she shoot； quick； just
like that。 The hungry face of the stranger…man is still snarling
as he falls forward into the snow。
〃They do not look at the dead man。 'Let us go on；' they say。 And
we go on。 But now that they have found that for which they look；
they are like dead。 The last strength has gone out of them。 They
can stand no more upon their feet。 They will not crawl； but desire
only to close their eyes and sleep。 I see not far away a place for
camp。 I kick them。 I have my dog…whip； and I give them the lash
of it。 They cry aloud； but they must crawl。 And they do crawl to
the place for camp。 I build fire so that they will not freeze。
Then I go back for sled。 Also； I kill the dogs of the stranger…man
so that we may have food and not die。 I put the man and woman in
blankets and they sleep。 Sometimes I wake them and give them
little bit of food。 They are not awake； but they take the food。
The woman sleep one day and a half。 Then she wake up and go to
sleep again。 The man sleep two days and wake up and go to sleep
again。 After that we go down to the coast at St。 Michaels。 And
when the ice goes out of Bering Sea； the man and woman go away on a
steamship。 But first they pay me my seven hundred and fifty
dollars a month。 Also； they make me a present of one thousand
dollars。 And that was the year that Sitka Charley gave much money
to the Mission at Holy Cross。〃
〃But why did they kill the man？〃 I asked。
Sitka Charley delayed reply until he had lighted his pipe。 He
glanced at the POLICE GAZETTE illustration and nodded his head at
it familiarly。 Then he said； speaking slowly and ponderingly：
〃I have thought much。 I do not know。 It is something that
happened。 It is a picture I remember。 It is like looking in at
the window and seeing the man writing a letter。 They came into my
life and they went out of my life； and the picture is as I have
said； without beginning； the end without understanding。〃
〃You have painted many pictures in the telling；〃 I said。
〃Ay；〃 he nodded his head。 〃But they were without beginning and
without end。〃
〃The last picture of all had an end；〃 I said。
〃Ay；〃 he answered。 〃But what end？〃
〃It was a piece of life；〃 I said。
〃Ay；〃 he answered。 〃It was a piece of life。〃