The door to my shack in the frozen wastes of the Yukon slammed open. A gust of wind and snow blew out the fire, but even in the darkness that followed I recognised who it was immediately.
I fought to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Where did you come from? Where did you go?”
He stepped forward. Pale moonlight revealed grinning teeth. His voice was ragged but filled with triumph as he replied:
“Where did YOU come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?”