He had placed a brace of short bulldog revolvers on the table and offered one of them now to his companion.
"The shaving isn't over yet, Falkner." They ate breakfast, each with a gun beside his tin plate.

Now and then the doctor interrupted his meal to go to the door and peer over the broadening vista of the barrens.

They had nearly finished when he came back from one of these observations, his lips set a little tighter, a barely perceptible tremor in his voice when he spoke.
"They're coming, Falkner!" They picked up their revolvers and the doctor buttoned his coat tight up about his neck.
For ten minutes they sat silent and listening.
Not until the crunching beat of snow-shoes came to their ears did the doctor move.

Thrusting his weapon into his coat pocket, he went to the door.

Falkner followed him, and stood well out of sight when he opened it.