d been the first to discover the dead man, Pant, stood with his fur hood tied tightly over his ears.
Johnny was about to rebuke him, but the word died on his lips. "Pshaw!" he whispered to himself, "there's trouble enough without starting a quarrel beside an open grave."
Jarvis, who was the oldest man of the group and had been brought up in the Church of England, read a Psalm and a prayer, then with husky voice repeated:
"Ashes to ashes and dust to dust."
The hollow thump of frozen earth on the rude box coffin told that the ceremony was over.
One by one the men moved away, leaving only two behind to fill the grave.
Johnny strode off up the hill alone. He felt a great need to think. There was to be no more work that day. He would not be missed.
As he made his way slowly up the hill, his dark form stood out against the white background. Short, but square-shouldered and muscular, he fairly radiated his years of clean, vigorous living.
And Johnny Thompson wa
It's an episode of a large series and the only one I've read.
Adventures of a group of gold-miners working at a Russian concession in Alaska, year 1920.
Dangerous tigers, malevolent natives and poisonous plants, in a mostly plain narrative.
But also, mysterious grammophon disks messages, treacherous Orientals, murderous Russians, a dirigible balloon, a strange community of political exiles and many, many gold everywhere.
Not a great book but nicely readable, relatively fast-paced (after a somewhat slow first chapter) and showing a curious historical moment.