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MURDER POINT

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BY THE SAME AUTHOR

The House of the Weeping Woman Hodder and Stoughton, London

The Worker and Other Poems The Macmillan Co. , New York

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MURDER POINT

A Tale of Keewatin

by

CONINGSBY WILLIAM DAWSON

[Illustration]

Hodder & StoughtonNew YorkGeorge H. Doran Company

Copyright, 1910, byGeorge H. Doran Company

The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U. S. A. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

 I. John Granger of Murder Point 1 II. The Unbidden Guest 13 III. The Devil in the Klondike 25 IV. Spurling's Tale 42 V. Cities Out of Sight 53 VI. The Pursuer Arrives 74 VII. The Corporal Sets Out 86 VIII. The Last of Strangeways 100 IX. The Break-up of the Ice 112 X. A Message from the Dead 120 XI. The Love of Woman 144 XII. He Reviews His Marriage, and is Put to the Test 162 XIII. The Dead Soul Speaks Out 186 XIV. Spurling Makes a Request 210 XV. Manitous and Shades of the Departed 225 XVI. In Hiding on Huskies' Island 240 XVII. The Forbidden River 257XVIII. The Betrayal 272 XIX. The Hand in the Doorway 283 XX. Spurling Takes Fright 297 XXI. The Murder in the Sky 305 XXII. The Blizzard 318XXIII. The Last Chance 334

MURDER POINT

CHAPTER I

JOHN GRANGER OF MURDER POINT

John Granger, agent on the Last Chance River in the interests ofGarnier, Parwin, and Wrath, independent traders in the territory ofKeewatin, sat alone in his store at Murder Point. He sat upon anupturned box, with an empty pipe between his lips. In the middle ofthe room stood an iron stove which blazed red hot; through the singlewindow, toward which he faced, the gold sun shone, made doublyresplendent in its shining by the reflected light cast up by theleagues of all-surrounding snow and ice. 

Speaking to himself, as is the habit of men who have lived many monthsalone in the aboriginal silence of the North, "Well, and what next?"he asked. 

He had been reviewing the uses to which he had put his thirty years oflife, and was feeling far from satisfied. That a man of breeding, whohad been given the advantages of a classical and university education, and was in addition an English barrister, should at the age of thirtybe conducting an independent trader's store in a distant part ofnorthern Canada did not seem right; Granger was conscious of theincongruity. During the past two years and a half he had obstinatelyrefused to examine his career, had fought against introspection, andhad striven to forget. 

In this he had been wise, for Keewatin is not a good place wherein to_remember_ and to balance the ledger of the soul; it is too remotefrom human habitation, too near to God--its vastness has robbed it ofall standards, so that small misdemeanours may seem huge anddisastrous as the sin of Cain. Madness lurks in its swampy creeks andwanders along the edges of its woodland seas, so that the border-linebetween natural and supernatural is very faintly marked. 

But to-day Granger had given way before the wave of emotional memoriesand had permitted his mind to recapitulate all the happiness which hehad lost; and with this result, that like a child in a darkened househe feared to advance and stood still trembling, questioning thefuture, anticipating and dreading that which was next to come. It wasthe second week in April; the break-up of the winter had almost begun;the spring was striding up from the south and a cry of travel was inthe air, both hopeful and melancholy. The world would soon be growingyoung again. Even in this desperate land the scars of the frost wouldsoon be obliterated; but to his own life, he was painfully aware, thespring had vouchsafed no promise of return. Was it gone forever? heasked. 

At the present moment he was remembering London and St. James's Parkwith its banks of daffodils and showers of white may-blossom, itsgroups of laughing children at play, its parade of black-coatedhorsemen, with here and there the scarlet flash of a Life-guard as hesped trotting by, and for bass accompaniment to this music of the Joyof Life the continual low thunder which in the Mall the prancinghoofs of countless carriage-horses strummed. 

Now it was Piccadilly in which he wandered, returning from the westwith his back toward the setting sun; the street-lamps had just beenkindled, and ahead of him, massed above the housetops, the blue-greyclouds of evening hung. He watched the faces of the people as theypassed, some eager, some jaded, some pleasure-seeking, some smug, andhe strove to conjecture their aim in life. At the Circus he pausedawhile, breathing deep and filling out his lungs with fragrance ofviolets and narcissi, which flower-girls clamoured for him topurchase. He bought a bunch and smiled faintly, contrasting thebeautiful significance of the name of the vendor's profession with theslatternly person to whom it was applied. Then onwards he went toLeicester Square where the dazzling lights of music-halls flared andquickened, and scarlet-lipped Folly smiled out upon him from streetcorners, and beckoned through the dusk. In the old days it had alwaysbeen when he had attained this point in his advance that the pleasureof London had failed, leaving him with a cramped sensation, a frenzieddesire for escape, and an overwhelming sense of the inherentrottenness of western civilisation. It was upon such occasions that hesaw, or thought he saw, the inevitable tendency of European cities toemasculate and corrupt the rugged nobilities of mankind. A revoltagainst artificiality had followed. Immediately, there in the heart ofthe world's greatest city, there had grown up about him the mirage ofthe primeval forest, whose boughs are steeped in silence, borne up bytall bare trunks, which lured him on to explore and adventure throughuntried lands, where quiet grows intense and intenser at each newstep, till he should arrive at that ultimate contentment for which heblindly sought. 

He laughed at the memory, smiling bitterly at the manner in which thatformer self had been beguiled. As if to give emphasis to his jest hearose from his box, lounged over to the window, cleared its panes ofmist with his hand, and gazed out upon the landscape of his choice. Itstared back at him with immobile effrontery, with the glazedwide-parted eyes of the prostrate prize-fighter who, in his falling, has been stunned--eyes in which hatred is the only sign of life. Hethrew back his head and guffawed at the conceit, as though it had beenconceived by a brain and given utterance to by a voice other than hisown. Then he paused, drew himself erect, and his face went white; hehad heard of solitary men in Keewatin who had commenced by laughing tothemselves, and had ended by committing murder or suicide. Yet, as hestood in thought, he acknowledged the truth of the image; hisexistence on the Last Chance River was one long and wearisome strugglebetween himself and the intangible prize-fighter, whoever he mightbe, --Nature, the Elemental Spirit hostile to Creation, Keewatin, theDevil, call him what you like. Sometimes he had had the better of thecombat, in which case days of peace had followed; but for the mostpart he stood at bay or crouched upon his knees, watching for hisopportunity to rise; at his strongest he had only just sufficed tohold his invisible antagonist in check, battling for a victory whichhad been already awarded. He had long despaired of winning; the onlyquestion which now troubled him was "How long shall I be able tofight?"

A certain story current in the district, concerning a Hudson Bayfactor, flashed through his mind. At the beginning of the frost hisfort had been stricken with smallpox; one by one his six whitecompanions had died and the Indians had fled in terror, leaving himalone in the silence. In the unpeopled solitude of the long darkwinter days and nights which had followed, he had grown strangelycurious as to the welfare of his soul, and had petitioned God that itmight be disembodied so that he might gaze upon it with his livingeyes. After a week of continuous prayer, he had fastened on hissnowshoes, and gone out upon the ice to seek God's sign. He had nottravelled far before he had come to the mound where his six companionslay buried. There against the dusky sky-line he had seen a famishedwolf standing over a scooped-out grave. So the factor had had hissign, and had looked upon his disembodied soul with his own eyes. 

When the ice broke up and the first canoe of half-breed voyageursswept up to the fort, they had been met by a man who crawled uponhands and knees, and snarled like a husky or a coyote. 

Granger shrugged his shoulders and shuddered. He thanked his God thatthe spring was near by. Upon one thing he was determined, thatwhatever happened, though he should have to die--by his own hand, hewould not grovel into Eternity upon his hands and knees as had thatfactor of the Hudson Bay. 

For relief from the turbulence of his thoughts he turned his attentionto the frozen quiet of the world without. Not a feature in thelandscape had changed throughout all the past five months. He hadnothing new to learn about it: he had even committed to memory whereeach separate shadow would fall at each particular hour of the day. Straight out of the west the river ran so far as eye could reach, until it came to Murder Point. At close of day it seemed a moltenpathway which led, without a waver, from Granger's store directly tothe heart of the sun. Having arrived at the Point, the Last ChanceRiver swept round to the northeast, and then to the north, until inmany curves it poured its waters into the distant Hudson Bay. Itsbanks, in the open season, which lasted from May to October, were lowand muddy; the country through which it flowed, known as the barrenlands, was for the most part flat and densely wooded with a stuntedgrowth of black spruce, jackpine, tamarack, poplar, willow, and birch. The river was the only highway: much of the forest which lay back fromits banks was entirely unexplored on account of its swamps and thecloseness of its underbrush. There were places within three miles ofMurder Point where a white man had never travelled, and some where noteven the Indians could penetrate. Partly for this reason the districtwas rich in game: the caribou, moose, lynx, bear, wolf, beaver, --wolverine, and all the smaller fur-bearing animals of the Northabounded there. Seventy miles to the southwestward lay the nearestpoint of white habitation, where stood the Hudson Bay Company's Fortof God's Voice. Between Murder Point and the coast, for two hundredand fifty miles, there was no white settlement until the river's mouthwas reached, where the Company's House of the Crooked Creek had beenerected on the shores of the Bay. With his nearest neighbours, seventymiles distant at God's Voice, Granger had no intercourse, for he wasregarded by them as an outcast inasmuch as he was an independenttrader. Once was the time when Prince Rupert's _Company of Adventurersof England trading in the Hudson's Bay_ had held the monopoly of thefur trade over all this territory, from the Atlantic seaboard to thePacific Coast; then to have been caught trapping or trading privatelyhad meant almost certain death to the trespasser. Now that the powersof the Company had been curtailed, the only manner in which a HudsonBay factor could show his displeasure toward the interloper was byignoring his presence--a very real penalty in a land of loneliness, where, at the best, men can only hope to meet once or twice ayear--and by rendering his existence as unbearable and silent aspossible in every lawful and private way. In the art of ostracising, Robert Pilgrim, the factor at God's Voice, was a past master; duringthe two and a half years that Granger had been in Keewatin he had haddirect communication with no one of the Company's white employees. Onoccasions certain of its Cree Indians and half-breed trappers had cometo him stealthily, at dead of night, to see whether he would not offerthem better terms for their season's catch of furs, or to inquirewhether he would not give them liquor in exchange, the selling ofwhich to an Indian in Keewatin is a punishable offence. These wereusually loose characters who, being heavily in debt to the Company, were trying to postpone payment by selling to Granger on the sly; yet, even these men, when day had dawned, would pass him on the riverwithout recognition, as if he were a stick or a block of ice. However, only by dealing with such renegades could he hope to pick up anyprofit for the proprietors of his store. His every gain was a loss tothe factor, and _vice versa_; therefore by Robert Pilgrim he was notgreatly beloved. 

Pilgrim was a man of conservative principles, who looked back withlonging to the days when a factor was supreme in his own domain, holding discretionary powers over all his people's lives, who, afterthe giving of a third warning to an independent trader found poachingin his district, could dispose of him more or less barbarouslyaccording to his choice. Now that every man, whatever his company, hadan equal right to gather furs in the Canadian North, he consideredthat he and his employers were being robbed; wherefore he made it hisbusiness to see that no friendship existed between any of hissubordinates and the man at Murder Point. Hence it happened that insummer when the canoes and York boats, and in winter when thedog-teams and runners from God's Voice, went up and down river by thefree-trading store of Garnier, Parwin and Wrath, no head was turned, and no sign given that anyone was aware that a white man, yearning fora handshake and the sound of spoken words, was regarding them withsorrowful eyes from the wind-swept spit of land. 

Two years and a half ago, on his first arrival, Granger had laughed atthe factor's petty persecution and had pretended not to mind. Sincethen, as his isolation had grown on him, his temper had changed, hispride had given way, until, in the January of the present year, he hadjourneyed down to the Company's fort, and had implored them to speakto him, if only to curse him, that his reason might be saved. Thegates of the fort had been clanged in his face, and he had beensilently threatened with a loaded rifle, till resurrected shame haddriven him away. 

He had since heard that Pilgrim had said on that occasion, "I knewthat he would come and that this would happen sooner or later. I'vebeen waiting for it; but he's held out longer than the last one. "

This remark explained to Granger how it was that, when he had arrivedin Winnipeg, having just returned from the Klondike, and had appliedto his acquaintance Wrath for employment, his request had been soreadily granted. He had marvelled at the time that he, who had hadnext to no experience in Indian trading, should have met withimmediate engagement, and have been given sole charge of an outpost. Now he knew the reason; he had been given his job because hisemployers could get no one else to take it. From the first day of hiscoming to Murder Point strange stories had reached his ears concerningthe diverse and sudden ways in which its bygone agents had departedthis life: some by committing murder against themselves; some bycommitting murder against others; some, having gone mad, by wanderingoff into the winter wilderness to die; others, who were reckoned sane, by attempting to make the six hundred and eighty mile journey back tocivilisation alone across the snow and ice. These rumours he had notcredited at first, supposing them to be fictions invented by Pilgrimfor the purpose of shattering his confidence, and thus inducing him toleave at once. The last remark of the factor, however, inasmuch as ithad been reported to him by an honest man, the Jesuit priest PèreAntoine, had proved to him that they were not all lies. When he hadquestioned Père Antoine himself, the kindly old man had shaken hishead, refusing to answer, and had departed on his way. This hadhappened shortly after the occurrence in January; since then Grangerhad been less than ever happy in his mind. 

Luckily for him, about this time Beorn Ericsen, the Man with the DeadSoul, as he was named, the only white Company trapper in the district, had quarrelled with the factor over the price which had been offeredhim for a silver fox; in revenge he had betaken himself to Granger, bringing with him his half-breed daughter, Peggy, and his son, Eyelids. Their chance coming had saved his sanity; moreover it hadfurnished him with something to think about, besides himself, namelyPeggy. His courtship of her had been short and informal, as is the wayof white men when dealing with women of a darker shade: within a weekhe had taken her to himself. But Peggy had had ideas of her own uponthe nebulous question of morals, ideas which she had gained in the twoyears during which she had attended a Catholic school in Winnipeg; shehad refused to be regarded as a squaw, since the blood which flowed inher veins was fully half white, and, after staying with him for afortnight, had taken herself off, joining her father on a huntingtrip, giving Granger clearly to understand that she would not livewith him again until Père Antoine should have come that way and unitedthem according to the rites of the Roman Church. 

As he stood by the window looking out across the frost-bound landwhich once, years since, in Leicester Square, he in his ignorance hadso much desired, he re-pondered these events and, "Well, and whatnext?" he asked. 

The touch of spring in the air, recalling him to England and the olddays, had made him realise among other things what this marriage witha half-breed girl, supposing he consented, must entail. It wouldexile him forever. No matter howsoever well he might prosper, or richhe might become, or whatsoever stroke of good fortune might visit him, he could never return to his English mother and English friends, bringing with him a half-breed wife and children who had Indian blood. If he married her, he would become what Pilgrim had named him--anoutcast. If he did not marry her, she would refuse to live with him, and he would be left lonely as before and would probably becomeinsane. Since he was never likely to become either prosperous, orrich, or fortunate, would it not be better for him to provide for hisimmediate happiness, he asked, and let the future take care of itself?Even while he asked the question another woman intruded her face: shewas slim, and fair, and delicately made, and was disguised in the maleattire of a Yukon placer-miner. She seemed to be asking him toremember her. 

He shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, as if defying Fate: turningaway from the window, he reseated himself upon the upturned box by thered-hot stove. 

Pooh! he'd been a fool to give way to retrospection. He was noexception to the general rule; most men mismanaged their careers--moreor less. Still, he was bound to confess that he had done so rathermore than less. Oh well, he would settle down to his fate. As for thatother girl in the Yukon miner's dress, who would keep intrudingherself, she also must be forgotten. 

But at that point, perversely enough, he began to think about her. What was she doing at the present time? Where was she? Did she stillremember him? Had she made her fortune up there out of their last bigstrike? How had she construed his sudden and unexplained departure? Heswore softly to himself, and rising, went over to the window again. Then he pressed closer as if to make certain of something, gazing upthe long glimmering stretch of frozen river to the west. 

There was a strange man coming down; strange to those parts, at anyrate, though Granger seemed to recognise something familiar in hisstride. He was driving his dogs furiously, lashing them on withfrenzied brutality, coming on apace, turning his head ever and againfrom side to side, peering across his shoulder and looking behind, asif he feared a thing which followed him--which was out of sight. 

CHAPTER II

THE UNBIDDEN GUEST

Granger, having withdrawn himself to one side of the window so that hemight not be observed from the outside, watched the stranger'sapproach in anxious silence. Nearer and nearer he came, till in thatstill air it was possible to hear the panting of his huskies as theylunged forward in the traces, jerking their bodies to right and leftas they desperately strove to escape the descending lash of thepunishing whip. The man himself tottered as he ran, stubbing the toesof his snowshoes every now and then as he took a new step. Once fromsheer weakness he nearly fell, whereupon the dogs came to a suddenhalt, sat down on their haunches, and gazed wistfully round; in asecond he had recovered himself, with an angry oath had straightenedout his team in their traces, and was once more speeding towardGranger's shack. The impression which his mode of travelling conveyedwas that of flight; but from whom and whither can a man flee inKeewatin? Both he and his animals were evidently exhausted; they musthave journeyed continuously through the previous day and night, andstill they were in haste. "Well, all the better for me, " thought thewatcher, "for if he is so weary he cannot choose but stay; and if hestays with me, though he be a Company man, he will have to speak. "

Then fear seized hold of Granger lest Robert Pilgrim's discipline, orthe enmity of the man himself, might be such that, though heendangered his life by the procedure, he would refuse the hospitalityof a hated private trader. "Nonsense, " said the voice of hope, "towhere can he be travelling at this season of the year unless to MurderPoint? Before ever he gets to the coast and Crooked Creek the winterwill have broken up, and northwards there is nowhere else to go. "

So, as is the way with men who have exhausted this world's resourcesfor rendering them aid, he began to pray; not decorously, withreverent, well-chosen words, but fiercely, with repetition, and belowhis breath. "My God, don't let him pass, " he said; "make him stophere. Make him stop here, and spend with me at least one night. " Then, when he had petitioned God, thinking perhaps that He would not hearhim, he commenced to call upon Lord Jesus Christ. He clenched hishands in his excitement till the nails broke into the flesh. There wasa God in Keewatin after all, there must be, since He had sent to himthis stranger. 

All the while that he was praying and exclaiming thus, he was tryingto judge of the man's errand from his dress. He was clad in theregulation capote of the Hudson Bay Company's employee; it was of adark material, probably duffel, which reached to the knees. On hishead was a fur-skin cap, over which he had drawn the hood of hiscapote so far down that his features could not be discerned. About hiswaist went a sash of scarlet, such as is worn by the Northwest_métis_. His legs were swathed in duffel leggings, so that theyappeared to be of enormous size. On his feet he wore moose-hidemoccasins which extended part way up his legs, and to these hisfive-foot snowshoes were attached. His whip he carried in his lefthand. About this last there was something familiar. Who was it that hehad known in the past who had driven his dogs left-handed, and had hadthat swinging, plunging stride? The memory refused to concentrate, sohe strove to guess at the man's identity by the process ofelimination. He could not be a Hudson Bay mail-carrier bringing him aletter, for the factor refused to deliver all missives addressed toMurder Point. It was not probable that he was an express messenger ofGamier, Parwin, and Wrath, sent up post-haste from Winnipeg; theycould have nothing of such importance to say to him that it could notwait for the open season, when travelling is less expensive. Nor washe a trapper bound on a friendly or business visit to the store; for, in the first place, this man was no Indian (he could tell that by theway in which he lifted his feet in running), and, in the second, hehad no friend, nor any man in the district, save Ericsen, who would beseen with him in the open daylight. A foolish, strangling expectancyrose up within him. Might he not be the bearer of important and goodnews from the homeland? What news? Oh, anything! That his father, thevisionary explorer of Guiana, who twenty years ago had set out on hislast mad search for El Dorado, the fabled city of the Incas, and whofor many years had been given up for dead, had returned at length withgold, successful from his quest--or, at the least, that his mother hadrelented and wanted him back. Speedily his hope turned to agonisingsuspense. Perhaps he was coming to tell him that his mother in Englandwas dead. Then he laughed hysterically, remembering that Mr. Wrath wasnot the sort of man to regard any death as serious, unless it werehis own. 

By this time the stranger had covered the intervening two miles ofriver and was within thirty yards of the Point. He was slowing down. He had halted. His exhausted dogs were already curling themselves upbeneath a snow-bank, wisely snatching a moment's rest as soon as itwas offered them. Careless of their welfare, leaving them as they wereto tangle up their traces, he was commencing to ascend the moundtowards the store. Despite the clamour of welcome which raged withinhim, Granger did not stir; the influence of the North Land was uponhim, compelling him to self-repression, making him stern andforbidding in his manner as was the appearance of the world without. From his hiding by the window he watched the man; as he did so a vaguesense of fear and loathing took the place of gladness. 

His approach was slow and hesitating; continually he paused to gazeback along the river as if in search of a pursuer, then suddenlyforward toward the shack as if for spying eyes which were reading hissecret. Before he had come near enough to be recognised, he had pulledthe hood still further forward, holding it together above his mouthwith his right hand, so that of his face only his eyes were visible. With his left hand he fumbled in his breast, and Granger knew that hegrasped a loaded weapon. "Does he mean to kill me?" he wondered; yethe made no effort to bar the door, or to reach for the rifle whichhung on the wall above his head. He only smiled whimsically; amusedthat anyone should waste so much care over robbing a man of apossession which he himself so little valued--his life. Personallyhe would welcome so easy a method of departure from Keewatin--onewhich was quite respectable, and would attach no responsibility tohimself. When all has been said, there remain but two qualities offear: the fear of life, and the fear of death. Granger was onlyconscious of the first, therefore he could afford to be amazinglydaring under the present circumstances. Now he could no longer see theman, for he was standing beneath the walls of the shack; but he couldhear that he was listening, and could hear him gasp for breath. One, two, three slow footsteps, and the latch was raised and the door flungwide. He waited for his guest to enter, and then, because he delayed, "Come inside, " he cried; "confound you, you're letting in the coldair. "

He heard the snowshoes lifted across the threshold and rose to greetthe stranger who, so soon as he had entered, made fast the door andconfronted him without a word, still hiding his face from sight. Hewas a tall man, well over six feet and proportionately broad of chest;he had to stoop his head as he stood in the store, since the roof wasnone too high. 

After some seconds spent in silent gazing, "Well, and what d'youwant?" asked the trader. The man made no reply, but tossed him a screwof paper which, when he had unfolded it and smoothed it out, read, _"Do all that is in your power to help the bearer. I am responsible. Destroy this so soon as it is read. "_ The note was unsigned, but itwas in the handwriting of Wrath. Granger slid back the door of thegrate and watched the scrap of paper vanish in a little spurt offlame. Then he looked up, and seeing that the man still stoodregarding him and had removed none of his garments, not even hissnowshoes from which the crusted ice was already melting, "All right, "he said; "I'll do my best. You must be tired, and have come a longjourney. "

"I have, " said the stranger, throwing back his hood, and for the firsttime displaying his face. 

Granger sprang forward with a startled cry, and seized the newcomer byhis mittened hand. "By God, it's Spurling!"

In a flash all the winter had thawed out of his nature and the spring, which he had despaired of, had returned. Once more he was an emotionalliving creature, with a throbbing heart and brain, instead of acarcass which walked, and was erect, and muttered occasional wordswith its mouth as if it were alive, and was in reality a dead thing towhich burial had been denied. 

"Yes, it's Spurling, " replied the traveller in a hoarse, uneagervoice; then, "Has anyone been here before me?"

Granger shook his head, and instinctively stood back a pace from thisleaden-eyed, unresponsive stranger, who had been his friend. 

Spurling was quick to notice the revulsion. "And are you going todesert me and turn me out?"

"Desert you! If you knew how lonely I have been you wouldn't ask thatquestion. "

"I ought to know, " he answered, and going over to the window lookedout, turning his head from side to side in that furtive manner whichGranger had noted in him when he had first seen him advancing acrossthe ice. 

Facing about suddenly, he asked, "Is there any way out of here, exceptdown there?" pointing to the river frozen in its bed, stretching awayinterminably to the west, through groves of icicles, and marbleforest, like a granite roadway hewn out and levelled by a giant, vanished race. 

"There is no other, " Granger replied, "unless you include the way outwhich is trodden by the dead. "

Spurling started almost angrily at the mention of this last pathway ofescape, and scowled. It was evident that the fear which made his lifea burden was the fear of death--which was proof to Granger that he hadnot been long in Keewatin. However, he controlled himself andmurmured, "Six hundred and eighty miles is a long journey, and it'sall that to Winnipeg. Within a fortnight the ice will break, and thenfor almost a month the only way will be impassable. Thank God forthat!" Addressing himself to Granger, "And what lies ahead?" he asked. 

"The forest and three hundred odd miles of this Last Chance River tillyou come to the Hudson Bay and the House of the Crooked Creek. "

"Is there nothing in between?"

"Only the Forbidden River, which neither white man nor Indian evertravels; it joins the Last Chance a hundred miles ahead. "

"Ah, the Forbidden River! And no one ever travels there! Why not? Isit shallow or rapid? But then there is the winter; it cannot be thatthere's anything that doesn't freeze up here. "

"Oh, it freezes right enough. "

"Then?"

"The Indians are afraid to travel it. "

"Of what are they afraid?"

"Manitous, and shades of the departed. "

For the first time Spurling's face relaxed, the hunted expressionwent out of his eyes; he almost smiled. "Well, I'm not afraid ofthem, " he said. 

He commenced to unfasten his snowshoes and to take off the heavierportions of his dress. Granger stood by and watched him; he waspuzzled by the man's manner, and heartsick with disappointment. Whatwas the reason for the change which had crept over him in the threeyears since they had parted, and why had he made this journey at thisseason of the year, in haste, without warning? Six hundred and eightymiles seemed a long way to travel in winter, through a desolate land, only to tell your most intimate friend that you are not afraid ofmanitous and shades of the departed. 

He recalled the man whom he had known, so generous and open-hearted, who had walked with him at night beneath the London gas-lamps, sharingand comprehending those dreams and enthusiasms which others hadderided, or compassionated as delusions of the mad. This was the manwho had given him what might have been his chance, had he only beenable to use it aright. Like a tawdry curtain drawn up at a Christmaspantomime on a dazzling transformation scene, so, at the memory, theveil of the present was instantly removed, revealing only the flashingsplendours of past things, which lay behind. This same body which nowcrouched basely here before him had belonged to a hero once--to theman who, five long years since, had pushed on in spite of defeat, carrying with him by his courage his despairing companion over thedeadly Skaguay trail. The Skaguay, where bodies of horses layunburied, spreading pestilence abroad every hundred yards of the way;where the army of gold-seekers turning back was as great as the armypressing on; and those of the attack had momentarily to stand aside, so narrow was the path, for the wounded and spent of the retreat, whopassed them by with ashen faces, some of them with death in theireyes, bidding them, "Turn back! Turn back! You will never get throughalive. "

Many a time when his shoulders were bruised and broken, and he achedin every limb, and his clothes were sodden with rain, which he knewmust shortly become stiff as boards when night had fallen and it hadbegun to freeze, and perhaps another horse had fallen and been leftbeside the trail, he also would have joined the retreat right gladly, unashamed of his cowardice, had not Spurling picked up his load with alaugh and dragged him on. What a fine brave fellow he had been inthose early Yukon days! Why, it was he who, when they had reached thesummit of that heart-breaking pass, had rescued young Mordaunt. JervisMordaunt, with a single horse, had packed his entire outfitsingle-handed to the topmost point of the trail, and then, when thehardest part of his journey had been accomplished and his goal wasalready in sight, his horse had given out and died. When they had comeup with him, his beast had been dead three days, and, because he couldnot afford a new one, he had been packing his stuff on his own narrowshoulders into Bennett, whence the start by water for Dawson had to bemade--a hopeless task, for Mordaunt was not a strong fellow, but slimand extraordinarily girlish in frame. Many of the travellers who hadalready attained the summit were flinging away their outfits andturning back in panic, terrified by stories which they had heard ofwinter and starvation in the Klondike; those who still trudgeddoggedly forward were too selfishly preoccupied with visions of gold, and their own concerns, and fears lest the rivers and lakes shouldclose up, to render him aid. Not so Spurling; in those days he wasnever too busy to lend an unfortunate a helping hand; besides, likemost brave men, the thing which he valued highest was courage, and hewas taken with the young chap's pluck. "I'm fairly broad, " he hadsaid, "and before the river freezes there's plenty of time for allthree of us to get drowned. So look sharp, my girl, and hand yourbundles up. " From the first day he had nicknamed Mordaunt "The Girl, "because he was so surpassingly modest and had no beard to shave. So heand Spurling had shouldered Mordaunt's burden, and had made him theirpartner, and had carried him through to the gold-fields alive. 

Where was Jervis now? he wondered; then his thoughts returned to thepanorama of that eventful journey. He remembered how in the mouth ofthe Windy Arm on Tagish Lake, when the sail swung round and sent himspinning overboard, he would most certainly have perished in thosechill waters had not Spurling jumped in and held him up till the boatput back. It was Spurling's hand which had kept the boat steady in theboiling rapids of the White Horse, when he and Mordaunt had lost theirnerve--yes, that same hand which was now plucking restlessly at theuntrimmed beard which fringed that crafty, sullen face. How incredibleit seemed that this body should contain the same man, and that thechange should have taken place in five years! He contrasted thatbig-shouldered, song-singing fellow who had given them of his endlessstore of courage when their own was spent, compelling them to gothrough the mush ice at Five Fingers, and the drift ice at FortSelkirk, and had landed them safely at Dawson almost against theirwill, the last boat through before the Klondike froze up, with thissecretive hang-dog individual who slunk through an unpeopledwilderness, twisting his neck from side to side, as though he alreadyfelt the halter there--like a Seven Dials assassin, fearful of arrest. There he sat by the window, with eyes fixed uncannily on the west, watching for the follower whom he could not see, but only felt. 

He turned round uncomfortably, feeling that Granger's eyes were uponhim; then rose up abruptly, saying, "Ha, I was forgetting! My dogsmust be fed. "

Granger watched him go out, and was glad of relief from his presence. If anyone had come to him a week ago and had said, "Druce Spurlingwill be here this day or next, " his joy would have surpassed allbounds. Now he realised that there is a worse evil than solitude--thecompulsory companionship of a man who once was, and is no longer, yourfriend. "Ach!" he muttered shivering, "I feel as if I had been sittingwith my feet in an open grave. " Then remorsefully he added, "The poorchap's in trouble. He was good to me in days gone by: I'll do my bestto help him. Perhaps that's the kind of offal that I appeared toRobert Pilgrim when I made my journey to God's Voice last January, andhe threatened to shoot me; yet, God forbid that I ever looked likethat. Maybe that which I seem to see in Spurling is only the reflectedchange in myself. Christ pity us lonely men!"

From the window he could see how Spurling was gathering his dogsaround him, leading them past the Point northward to a bend where theycould not be seen by a man approaching from up-river. What was themeaning of such precaution? Why had he been so urgently requested tohelp the one man in the world whom he was most likely to help withouturging, since he had been his closest friend? Why had he been orderedto destroy the note immediately when read? And why had Spurling, whomhe had thought to be in Klondike making his pile, or having takenadvantage of the secret knowledge which he had unwisely shared withhim, to be in Guiana, sailing up the Great Amana seeking El Dorado, travelled these thousands of miles by sea and land only to visit himhere in Keewatin thus surlily? Was it to hide? Well, if that was hispurpose, there wasn't much chance of his being followed, or iffollowed, found. 

CHAPTER III

THE DEVIL IN THE KLONDIKE

Spurling, having returned from feeding his dogs, had reseated himselfby the window, but he had not again spoken. When Granger had informedhim that a meal was ready, and had called to him to come and partake, he had only shaken his head. When, however, it had been brought tohim, he had eaten hungrily, bolting his food like a famished husky, yet never looking at what he ate, for his eyes were directed along theriver-bed. He used neither fork nor spoon, carrying whatever was setbefore him hastily to his mouth in his hands. His whole attitude wasone of hurry; he rested in haste, as if begrudging the moments whichwere lost from travel. 

Had he been the foremost runner in some great race, who had fallen atthe last lap, and, waiting to recover himself before making the finaldash toward the tape, watched anxiously lest his next rival shouldround the bend, and surprise him before he was up on his feet again, he could not have been more tensely excited. His breath came in gaspsand spasms; his body jerked and trembled even while he sat. He beganto do things, and did not finish them. He opened his mouth to speak, and was silent. He half rose to his feet, and fell back again. Heturned his head to look at Granger, then thought better of it, andcontinued staring into the west. Granger watched him, and wonderedwhat might be the secret which he was hesitating to impart. Was hismind a blank through weariness? Was he arguing out some dreadfulproblem within himself? Or was he only mad?

What frail and isolated creatures we are!--when once our power ofcommunicating thought is gone, though we breathe and move above theearth, we are more distant one from another than if we were trulydead; for, when a soul has totally forsaken its body, and the body hasceased to express, we, who live, can at least imagine that the thingdeparted sometimes returns and hovers within ourselves. To live and besilent is a remoter banishment from Life than the irrevocable exiledecreed by Death. 

Granger could now see that the change which he had noted in Spurlingmight quite well have been the work of a month or two months, and wasdue to trouble and neglect. The man was unwashed and unfed, and formany nights he had not slept. His eyes were ringed and bloodshot withfatigue, and with incipient snow-blindness. His cheeks were sunken andcadaverous with too much travel; his body was limp with over-work. Should the cause of his excitement be suddenly removed, he wouldcollapse; it was nervous courage which upheld him. And there, despiteall these alterations for the worse, he could still discern the oldSpurling--the man whom he had loved. The brows retained their oldfrown of impudent defiance, and the mouth its good-humoured, recklesscontempt. These had been overlaid by some baser passion, it was true;but they remained, showed through, and seemed recoverable. As helooked, the memory flashed through his mind of Spurling at hisproudest--on that night at the Mascot dance-hall, when they hadcarried into Dawson City the news of the great bonanza they had struckat Drunkman's Shallows. He was standing on a table, surrounded by agroup of miners, leading the singing, roaring out the doggerel chorusof a local mining ballad:

 "Oh, we'll be there with our bags of gold When the Judgment trumpets blare, When the stars drop dead and the moon stands cold, Tell the angels we'll be there. "

Ha, the power of the man and his consciousness of conquest!

Half to himself he began to hum the tune, beating time on the bareboards with his moccasined feet. In a moment Spurling had jumped up, "For God's sake, stop! I can't endure that, " he cried. "Oh, to thinkof it, that I am come to this, and that it is like this we meet afterall these years!" He covered his face with his hands, and, sinkingweakly back in the chair, commenced to sob. Granger went towards him, and bending over him, flung an arm around his neck. For the moment thebody before him was forgotten; the noble spirit of the man who hadonce stood by and helped him, was alone remembered. "Druce, tell meall, " he said. 

"I can't; you would shun me. "

"Then why did you come if you could not trust me?"

"There was nowhere else to go--no other way of escape. They were allaround me. "

"Who were all around you?"

"Those who had come to take me to be hanged. "

Granger gasped, and shrank aside. Then his worst conjecture wascorrect--it was as bad as that! murder had been done. 

Spurling drew himself up suddenly, throwing back his hands anduncovering a face of ghastly paleness. One might have supposed that hehad been the startled witness to the confession, instead of the manwho had made it. 

"What was that I said just now?" he asked. "You must not believe it. It is not true; I am tired and overstrained. They've hunted me so longthat I myself have come almost to believe their squalid accusations. Don't look at me like that; I tell you I am innocent. . . . Oh well, perhaps I did fire the shot; but, if I did, it was an accident. Ididn't know that the rifle had gone off until I saw him drop . . . Andwhen I laid my hand on him to lift him up, I found that he was dead. Ugh! Then I hid him in a hole in the ice, and, because he had been myfriend, I thought he would lie quiet forever there and never tell. "

While these words had been in the saying, Granger had drawn nearer andnearer, so that now the two men stood face to face, almost touching, staring into one another's eyes. Who was this friend who had beenshot? Could it have been Mordaunt? He seized hold of Spurling by thethroat with both hands, and shook him violently, crying, "What was hername? Will you tell me that?"

Spurling wrenched himself free and his eyes blazed threateningly. "Itwasn't a woman, " he said; "thank God, I haven't sunk to that. " Thenmore slowly, gazing fixedly on Granger as if to calculate how far itwas safe to confide, "and he wasn't a friend of yours, " he added. 

Granger turned away from the window that the murderer might not seehis countenance; his lips moved as if he prayed. He passed his handbefore his eyes as a man does who has been temporarily blinded by asudden flash. He had become terribly aware how near he had been tocommitting the crime for which this man was hunted. The knowledge ofthat fact gave him sympathy, a lack of which is always based onignorance. The compassionate man is invariably one who has beengreatly tempted. In those few seconds whilst he withdrew himself, thewhole portentous problem was argued out, "By how much is this man whointends, better than that man who accomplishes his crime?" Heconcluded that the difference was not one of virtue, but only ofopportunity--which entailed no credit on himself. He had passedthrough Spurling's temptation scatheless, therefore he could affordhim tenderness. 

"Druce, " he said, speaking tremblingly, "it is terrible how far twomen can drift apart in the passage of three short years. "

"Then why did you leave me?" asked Spurling sulkily, not yet reassuredof his safety, nor recovered from his rough usage. 

"I left you because I feared that I might do the deed for which youare now in flight. "

Spurling sat up astonished. "Lord!" he exclaimed, "have all men feltlike that? I've often wondered why it was that you went away thatnight, leaving no message and abandoning your claim. Pray, who wereyou fearful of murdering?"

"Listen. If I tell you, it may make it easier for you to believe me, in spite of what has just happened, when I say that I sincerely wantto help you. "

He was interrupted. "I suppose you know, " said Spurling with ashocking attempt at merriment, "that you are losing the thousanddollars which has been offered for my capture alive or dead? It's onlyfair to tell you that. If any man is to make a profit by my hanging, I'd rather that the man should be a friend. "

It was as though one should make an indecent jest in the presence of awoman newly dead. 

"I deserved that you should say that, " Granger replied. "But listen tome this once, for we may never meet again; who knows, in this land ofdeath? I want to explain to you how it was that I behaved as I did, and to ask your forgiveness. "

"Then make haste, " said Spurling, as he drew his chair nearer thewindow, and returned his gaze to the west. 

Without the dark was falling, though the sky was still faintly stainedwith red. It was thus he sat in the unlighted room as they talkedtogether through the night, a shadowy outline against the misty paneswhich never stirred, but stared far away across the frozen quiet ofthe land. 

Granger spoke again. "You know with what hopes we set out on ourjourney to Dawson; how we went there not for the greed of gold, butfor the sake of that other and more secret adventure which, as a boy, I promised my father I would undertake when I grew to be a man--anadventure which the Yukon gold could make possible and could purchase. That was my frame of mind throughout all the time that we were poor upthere. That first winter in the Klondike, when we were nearly starved, and our money gave out because our grub was exhausted and the price ofprovisions ran so high, when we were thankful to work for almost anywages on Wrath's diggings if only we might get food and keep warm, westill kept our faith in one another and our purpose in sight. You'llremember how we used to talk together throughout those long dark dayswhen, from November to February, we scarcely ever saw the sun and thethermometer sometimes stood at fifty below, and how we would plan forour great expedition to El Dorado, when our fortunes should be made, comforting ourselves for our present privations with thoughts of theland which Raleigh described. Those, despite their misery, were mybest days--I had hope then. Little Mordaunt would sit beside us, withhis face in his hands and his eyes opened wide with wonder, listeningto what we said; when we had finished he would beg us to take himalso, offering as his share, if he should be first to make his pile, to pay the way for all of us. It was then that we three made thecompact which should be binding, that whenever our joint fortunes, whether owned by one alone, or two, or in equal proportions by alltogether, should amount to fifty thousand dollars, we would regard itas common to us all, and, throwing up our workings, would leave theYukon for Guiana, in search of El Dorado. We were good comrades then, and did not calculate what ruin the avarice of gain may bring about inmen. 

"When spring came, we set out to seek the gold which should redeem us, which lay just underground. All that summer we travelled and foundonly pay-dirt or colours, and at times not even that, till we came tothe Sleeping River and pitched our camp at what was afterwardsDrunkman's Shallows. How discouraged we were! We talked of turningback, saying that nothing of worth had ever been found in the SleepingRiver. We called ourselves fools for having wasted our time up there. Then, on what we had determined should be the last night of our camp, when we had made up our minds to return next day, Eric Petersen cameby and joined us. He also had found nothing; worse still, had spentall he had, and, being down in the mouth, got drunk--not decently, butgloriously intoxicated. Somewhere about midnight, when, after twentyhours of shining, the sun had disappeared and the world was stillbright as day, and we were all sleeping, he got up and went down tothe river to bathe his aching head, and stumbled on the banks and, falling in, was nearly drowned. You heard him cry and, waking, randown to the water's edge. As you stooped to pull him out, you sawthat, where his foot had stumbled on the bank, it had kicked up anugget. Then you roused us and, when we had prospected and found thatgold was really there, we each staked a claim, and you an extra one asdiscoverer, and set off that same night on the run to register. 

"It was on the evening of the day we recorded that you had your greattime at the Mascot, leading the singing, and being toasted all round. It seemed to me I had reached El Dorado that night, --and now I knowthat I never shall. So, after the fun was over, we went back to workour claims, and toiled day and night till the river froze up. Thestampede had followed us, and every yard of likely land was staked formiles below and above. My claim yielded next to nothing, andMordaunt's soon pinched out; but your two were the richest on theShallows. 

"I was soon compelled to work for you for wages. Mordaunt, when he hadtaken ten thousand dollars out of his claim, agreed to do likewise. We should both have left you at that time and gone away to prospectafresh, had it not been for our early understanding that whatever weearned was owned conjointly. Just before the winter closed down uponus, we had taken out nearly fifty thousand dollars, the figure atwhich we had agreed to quit the Yukon; I had one, Mordaunt ten, andyou had thirty-five thousand dollars--forty-six thousand in all. Mordaunt and I talked to you about selling out and starting on ourgreater quest, but you held us to the fifty-thousand limit, sayingthat six months' postponement more or less would make no difference, and that we had better have too much than too little capital in handbefore our start was made. We yielded to your judgment inasmuch as youwere the richest man, never suspecting that you were alreadycontemplating going back on your bargain to share and share alike withus. 

"But after the burning had commenced, and the winter had settled downfor good, and the days had grown short and gloomy, we noticed a changein your manner--one of which you, perhaps, were not fully conscious. Your conversation became masterful and abrupt; you made us feel thatwe were your hired men, and were no longer partners in a future andnobler enterprise. Gradually the certainty dawned upon us that you hadrepudiated your compact, and did not include us in your plans. Goldfor its own sake I had never cared about as you had; I only valued itfor the power it had to forward me in the quest of which I had dreamedsince I was a child--the following in my father's footsteps anddiscovering of the city of the Incas, and, perhaps, of my fatherhimself. 

"When I had seen you growing rich whilst I remained a poor man, I hadfelt no jealousy; for I trusted in the promise we had exchanged andrelied on your honesty in keeping your word. But, when I had perceivedyour new intention, something went wrong inside my brain, so that Ibegan to construe all your former good as bad. I thought that from thefirst you had never intended to keep your word, and had brought meinto the Klondike to get me out of the way, so that, possessed of thesecret information which I had given you, you might steal a march onme, and set out for El Dorado by yourself. Whether that was yourpurpose I do not know; but, for doubting you, you can scarcely blameme. So, day by day, as I descended the shaft to the bed-rock, andpiled up billets of wood, and kindled them, throwing out the muck, drifting with the streak, sending up nuggets to the surface, and dirtwhich often averaged ten dollars to the pan, I said to myself, 'Everyshovelful you dig out, and every fire you light, and every billet youstack, is helping Spurling to betray you the earlier. '

"At first I would not believe my own judgment, but drove my anger downby replying, 'He is no traitor; he is my friend. ' But at night when Icame up, and you spoke to me pityingly about my hard luck and your ownincreasing wealth, I knew what you meant. Mordaunt didn't seem tomind; he had ten thousand dollars of his own, so he only said, 'Givehim time. He's all right. He'll remember and come round. His head'sturned for the moment by his fortune and he's lost his standards ofwhat is just. I daresay if this happened to you or me, we should havebeen as bad. '

"But that did not comfort me much, for I thought, 'A man who canbetray and lie to you once, can always lie and betray. ' I could notsleep at night for thinking about it and I brooded over it all theday; there was ever before my eyes the vision of you, sailing up theGreat Amana without me. 

"If nothing else had happened and it had remained at that, I suppose Ishould have finished my winter's contract with you and have gone outagain in the spring, either with Mordaunt or alone, prospecting formyself. As it was, I began to argue with myself. 'What better righthas Spurling to this gold than I?' I said. 'If I had chosen thisclaim, as I might have done, all the wealth which is now his wouldhave been mine. Had that been the case, I should have held to mybargain and have dealt squarely by him. Since he refuses to allow methe share which he promised me, I have a right to take it. '

"You know what followed, how I hid some nuggets in my shirt, and youaccused me and discovered them. You called me a thief, and threatenedto expose me to the law of the mining camp. I told you that, since wehad made that agreement to share conjointly whatever we found, I hadas big a right to take charge of some of the gold as you yourself. Then you laughed in my face and struck me, asking if that was theusual way in which a labourer spoke to his employer. That blow droveme mad. I made no reply, for I had become suddenly crafty; I awaited arevenge that was certain and from which there could be no rebound. From that day forward the lust to kill was upon me; wherever I lookedI saw you dead, and was glad. When the Northern Lights shot up theyseemed to me, instead of green or yellow, to be always crimson, thebloodcolour. When they crept and rustled through the snow along themountain heights, I fancied that they were a band of murderers whofled from their crime, and turned, and beckoned, and pointed to me, and whispered 'Come. ' As my imagination wrought within me I grewsilent; not even Mordaunt could rouse me. But he guessed what washappening, and would often come to me and say, 'Don't getdown-hearted. Whatever Spurling does, I still hold to my promise. Youand I are partners with a common fund. We have eleven thousand dollarsalready, so cheer up. '

"But it wasn't envy of your wealth had driven me mad; it was fear lestyou should go off and leave me behind, and should get to Guiana and toEl Dorado first. I couldn't shake off my hallucination however much Itried--which wasn't much; always and everywhere I could see you dead. You know that the Klondike with its few hours of winter daylight, itsinterminable nights, its pale-green moon which seems to shine foreverin a steely cloudless sky, and its three long months when men rarelysee the sun, is not a much better place than Keewatin in which to heala crippled mind. So, with the passage of time, there was worse tocome. 

"One morning as I came to the shaft, I found a stranger waiting there. It was dark, I could not see his face; since he said nothing, I passedhim and, descending to the bed-rock, commenced to scatter the lastnight's burning that I might get at the thawed-out muck. Presently Iheard the sound of someone following, and the creak of the rope as helet himself down in the bucket. I thought it was you, so I did notturn, but sulkily went on with my work. The footsteps came after mewherever I went, standing behind me. At last I swung round in anger, supposing that you had come to torment me; at that moment I had it inmy heart to strike you dead. In the light of the scattered fire, Idiscovered that it was not you, but instead a man of about my heightand breadth. 'What d'you want?' I asked him. He did not answer. 'Whosent you here?' I said. He was silent. Then I grew frightened; seizinga smouldering brand, having puffed it to a blaze, I thrust it beforehis face--and saw _myself_. 

"I was down there all alone and underground; no one could have heardme had I cried for help. In my terror I grew foolish and laughedaloud; _it seemed to me so odd that I should have such fear ofmyself_. When I had grown quiet, 'Who sent you here?' I asked again. 

"At last he answered, 'You called me. '

"'What have you come for?' I questioned. 

"'To murder Spurling, ' he replied. 

"Then in a choking whisper I muttered, 'Who are you?'

"And he answered me, 'Your baser self. '

"I looked for a way of escape, but he stood between me and the mouthof the shaft; to get out I would have had to pass him. I tried to makehim speak with me again that I might draw him aside, and so might slippast him and get above ground; but he refused to stir. Then I grewfascinated, and went near him, and peered into his face. He was likeme, yet unlike; he was more evil--what I might become at my worst. Hewas to me what you were, when you just now arrived, to the man whom Iloved in London, and who saved my life in Tagish Lake. Having studiedhis body and his face I loathed him, and drew myself away to thefarthest hiding-place. There I crouched beside the gold streak forten hours until the last glow of fire had died out, and I was left indarkness. Then, though I could not see him, I knew that he was there. 

"At last Mordaunt came and called to me. I begged him to come down. Thinking I was wounded, he lit a lantern and descended in haste. As heapproached, I looked to see where _myself_ had been standing; but, though I had felt him there the moment before, directly Mordaunt camehe vanished. In my horror I told Mordaunt everything--and what do youthink the little fellow did? Instead of laughing at me, or fleeingfrom me for his life because I was mad, he set down his lamp and, throwing his arms about me, knelt down there on the bed-rock andprayed. If it hadn't been for Mordaunt I should certainly have killedyou in the days which followed. Whenever I was alone or in yourcompany, that thing, which was my baser self, was there. He wouldstand behind you, so that you could not see him, with his handupraised as if about to strike. He would beckon to me that I alsoshould get behind you, and when you spoke to me contemptuously orharshly the evil of his face would reflect a like passion in meagainst you. But whenever Mordaunt was present he vanished, and I hadrest from temptation; therefore I say that Mordaunt saved you. 

"I kept on hoping that when spring came I would be able to leave, andthus rid myself of my evil dread; but the longer I stayed the greatergrew my peril. At length the crisis came. 

"You had been down river across the ice to Dawson on the spree and toarrange for the carriage of your bullion to Seattle. It was night, andI was just returning from the shaft, where I had been giving a lastlook to the burning. I had a rifle in my hand, and, as I arrived atthe door of the cabin, raising my eyes, saw you coming up-stream withyour dogs, with your head bent low as if you were tired. Also I saw inthe moonlight that _that other_ was noiselessly following you, strideby stride, stealing up behind. I saw him waving his arms to me, gesticulating madly and signing to me to kneel down and fire. 

"Suddenly all power of resistance left me; with my eyes upon his face, the memory of all the wrongs which you had dealt me, and my hatred ofyou, swam uppermost in my mind. I knelt down in the snow to takesteadier aim and had my finger on the trigger, when the gun wassnatched from behind. I turned fiercely round and found Mordauntstanding there. 'Quick, ' he said, 'come inside. ' He thrust the riflebeneath a pile of furs, and bade me tumble into my bunk and pretendsleep. Shortly after, I heard you come in and say that one of yourdogs had been shot dead; but I did not stir. You came over and gazeddown suspiciously at me, but seemed satisfied with Mordaunt's accountof how I had been lying there for the past two hours wearied out withthe day's work. Next day I could not look you in the eyes; also thememory of a woman I had loved had come suddenly back and changed me, making me ashamed. So two nights later I gathered together the fewthings I had and, abandoning my claim, fled. 

"If I could not trust myself with you, I could not trust myself in theYukon. Every miner travelling with gold seemed to me a possible victimfor my crime. I went about in fear lest I should see that evil thing, which called himself _myself_, returning to keep me company throughlife. I fled to escape him and, hoping to leave him behind me in theKlondike, went over the winter trail to Skaguay, the route by whichtwo years earlier we had fought our way up, took steamer to Vancouverand came on thence to Winnipeg. My money was all but exhausted when Igot there, I was broken in spirit and at my wit's end. By chance I metwith Wrath, on whose claim in our first winter we had worked. He hadgone back to his independent trading, and, at my request foremployment, sent me up here to look after his interests at MurderPoint. I was glad to come; after my experience on the Sleeping River, I was distrustful of myself in the company of men, never knowing whenthat _foreshadowing of my evil desires_ might not return to hound meon to fresh villainies and despair. For one who wished to be alone, Heaven knows, I chose well. You're not burdened with too much societyin Keewatin--that isn't the complaint which is most often heard. "

Outside the night had long since settled down--a night which with snowand starlight was not dark, but shadowy and ghostlike, making theinterval between two days a long-protracted dusk beneath which it waspossible to see for miles. Far away in the forest a timber-wolf howleddismally; the huskies in the river-bed, seated on their haunches, lifted up their heads and echoed his complaint. Then all was stillagain, nothing was audible except the occasional low booming of theice, when a crack rent its path across the surface and far below theriver shook its gyves, as though clapping its hands in expectation ofthe freedom of the spring to come. 

Against the window the silhouette of Spurling loomed up, with thedrifting dimness of the starlight for background, and the square ofsurrounding darkness for a frame of sombre plush; he seemed aman-portrait whom some painter had condemned forever to motionlessnessand silence with the magic of his brush, and had nailed on astretcher, and had hung up for ornament. 

At last he turned his head and stared into the blackness of the room, searching with his eyes for Granger. "So the deed which you feared todo, I have done, " he said. "And here we sit together again, now thatthree years have passed; I, the man whom you hoped to murder and theman who has committed your crime; you, the man who stole from me, fired on me, missed aim, and ran away, and yet who at this presenttime are my judge. It is very strange! One would have supposed thatwith the breadth of a continent between us, you in Keewatin, I inYukon, we need never have met. There is a meaning in this happening;God intends that you should help me to escape. "

CHAPTER IV

SPURLING'S TALE

Granger from his place beside the red-hot stove said nothing, butbowed his head. Spurling saw his action through the darkness and tookcourage. 

"There is not much to tell, " he said. "After you left us, my luckseemed to vanish. My great bonanza pinched out, as Mordaunt's haddone. I spent the spring and summer in washing out the gold from mywinter's dump, and in sinking shafts to locate another streak which Imight follow in the winter to come. I found none, but at first I didnot lose confidence. I had plenty of capital and could well afford tospend some of it in exploration. I was quite sure that my two claimscontained a hundred times as much gold as I had taken out--all I hadto do was to find its location. 

"What Mordaunt said to you about me was true--my sudden good fortunehad turned my head; I flung my earnings right and left, spending themon the most foolish extravagances, and still remained avaricious. Ideveloped a mania for asserting my power and getting myself talkedabout. You know that in those days a new 'millionaire' in the Klondikewas expected to do some of that; if, when he came to Dawson, he wassparing, and refused to treat the town to half-dollar drinks tilleveryone was drunk, they'd take him by his legs and arms and batterhim against a wall until he gave in and cried, 'Yes. ' Why, I've seenmen set to and pan out from the sawdust on the floor of a saloon thegold which I had scattered. I performed such follies as madeSwiftwater Bill famous when, after he had squabbled with his'lady-friend, ' and he saw her ordering eggs, of which she happened tobe fond, he bought up every egg in town at a dollar a piece, ninehundred in all, and smashed them, to spite her, against the side ofher house. I was a confounded fool; if I hadn't been, I shouldn't havequarrelled with you, and we shouldn't have been here now--we mighthave been in El Dorado, perhaps. 

"Well, when I'd blown a good part of my money over stupidities forwhich I scarcely received even pleasure in return, I awoke to the factthat my workings had ceased to bear. Already the Sleeping River hadgot a bad name and was deserted; it was a commonplace that 'Drunkman'sShallows was played out. ' I wouldn't acknowledge it. I took pride inthe Shallows because I had discovered them; I wasted the remainder ofmy money in buying up other men's useless claims, and in engaging mento work them. Towards the end, even I had to own to myself that thestreaks had pinched out and the Shallows were barren; but out ofdesperate bravado I kept on until my money was at an end. Then, when Iwas clean broke, I chose out a partner and went prospecting onceagain. 

"At first we found nothing, for, as I say, when you left me my luckdeparted. For months we wandered, finding only pay and colours, tillwe entered the Squaw River and discovered what we wanted at Gold BugBend. We stayed there working and testing the dirt till well intoJanuary; then one day we drifted into a streak which panned outtwenty dollars to the pan, and so we knew at last that we had struckit. We eyed one another suspiciously, for we each of us remembered howyou had been treated, and we began to talk about the necessity ofrecording our claims and discovery. Neither of us would trust theother to go alone, for we both wanted the claim on which we had beenworking, where the rich streak had been located, so we set outtogether. At first we travelled leisurely, speaking to one another;but soon we grew silent, and began to race. My partner was a lighterbuilt man than I, and had the better team of dogs, and carried no gun. Very soon he began to draw away from me; but I relied on my superiorstrength to catch him up, for the journey was long. Then, somehow, ashe ran farther and farther ahead, the belief grew up within me, that, whatever I might do, God meant him to get there first as a punishmentto me for what I had done to you. At that thought all my lust afterpower, and the memory of the mastery which I had lost, came back, andI said, 'I will outwit God this time, however. '

"Mechanically, almost without thinking, I levelled my gun andfired--and saw my partner drop. When I came up with him, he was lyingface-downwards, with his arms stretched out before him along theground. I turned him over and called on him to rouse. I kicked himwith the toe of my snowshoe, and tried to get angry, pretending tomyself that he was shamming. Then I knelt down beside him and coveredhim with a robe, deceiving myself that he had fainted and wouldpresently awake. After I had waited for what seemed to be ages, Icalled him by name, and, when he did not stir, I laid my finger on hiseyeballs--and so I knew that he was dead. When I knew that, fear gothold upon me; at every crack of the ice I persuaded myself thatsomeone was coming up or down the frozen river, or had already seenme, and lay hidden behind a snow-ridge, watching all my doings. So Itook up my comrade, and thrust him upright into a hole in the ice, trusting that because he had been my friend he would understand, andnever tell. But his arms, which he had extended in falling, stuck outabove the surface, as if signing my secret to all the world. They hadgrown stiff and frozen, and I could not bend them, so I knocked off, and piled up around and above them, blocks of ice. 

"Then, because I was fearful lest my coming alone without my partnerinto Dawson to record a claim might arouse suspicion, I turned back tothe Gold Bug Bend. There I stayed and drifted with the streak forthree months, and thawed out at least sixty thousand dollars' worth ofmuck. I had time to think things over. I came to the conclusion that Icould not record my claim, since that might bring the miners up whowould notice that my partner was missing; neither could I take down mydust to Dawson to express it to the outside, since that also wouldlead to questions being asked as to where I'd got it, seeing that itwas so great in amount. So I determined to lie quiet until the summertime, and then to wash out only so much gold as I could carry aboutmyself. 

"There was little chance of my being discovered on the Squaw River, for it is seldom travelled, and I calculated that in four months' timewhen the spring had come, the river would float the body far away towhere it never would be found, or if found, then at a time when itwould be unrecognisable. But in my first calculation I had notreckoned with my loneliness, and the horror which comes of knowledgeof hidden crime. By the end of March I could stand it no longer andset out for Dawson, where there were men in whose company I couldforget. 

"Soon after I got there the winter broke up and, by the first of May, though the Klondike itself was still frozen solid to its river-bed, the snow and ice from the country and rivers to the south, which hadbeen exposed to the rays of the sun, had thawed and, draining into it, had created a shallow torrent which, running between the banks abovethe ground-ice, gave an appearance of the Klondike in full flood. Verysoon the water over-flowed, so that houses were deluged and men had totake to boats and the roofs of their cabins for safety; it looked asthough Dawson would be washed away. The drifting ice commenced to packand pile against the bridge above the town; unless the jam could bebroken before the ground-ice loosened, the bridge must collapse. Somemen volunteered to blow it up with dynamite. In so doing they causedthe ground-ice to tear itself free from the bottom so that, the watergetting underneath, it floated up and pressed the pack against thefloor of the bridge, forming, for a half-minute, an impassable barrieragainst the torrent rushing down. The flood rose behind it like atidal wave, tossing on its crest a gigantic floe, standing waist-deepin which I saw, for the second during which it flashed in the sun, afrozen man, whom I recognised, who gazed upright towards me with hisarms upstretched--only for a second, then the bridge went down and thewater leapt over it, driving timbers, and floe, and man below thesurface, carrying them northwards passed the city, out of sight. 

"The thing had been so sudden that only a few of those who werewatching had realised what had happened; of these still fewer had seenthe man; and of these only one had known and recognised my partner, asI had done. None of them could say for certain whether the man theyhad seen upon the floe had been alive or dead. In the confusion whichfollowed the catastrophe this rumour was at first regarded as an idletale to which no one paid much attention. But, when that one man whohad seen and recognised came to me and inquired as to my partner'swhereabouts, and I could give him no satisfactory answers, curiositywas aroused. 

"The Mounted Police instituted a search for the body, but as yet itwas not found. 

"I was half-minded to leave the country and go outside. Would to God Ihad! But I was afraid that such conduct, following immediately uponthis occurrence, would attract attention. I returned to the SquawRiver and spent the half of another year up there. Then one day inNovember an Indian, who was passing up-river, stepped into my cabinand told me that the Mounted Police were searching for me. When Iasked him why, he said that the English friends of my partner had beeninquiring for him, and that I was known to have been the last man tobe seen in his company. When that had been said, I knew the meaning ofthe sight I had witnessed when the bridge gave--my partner had senthis body down river on the first of the flood to warn me of my danger, as if he would say, '_Escape while you can; it will soon bediscovered_. '

"I gathered together what gold I could carry and, travelling by nightonly that I might not be noticed (and you know how long Novembernights can be in the Yukon), I struck the trail for Skaguay--the routeby which two and a half years before you had fled. I got outundetected, as I thought, and arrived at Vancouver. There I read in apaper that at Forty-Mile the body had been found. I was seized withpanic and hurried on to Winnipeg; on the way I was alarmed to findthat I was being shadowed. I escaped my follower on my arrival thereand sought out Wrath, the only man I knew in town. I was sure that Icould trust him if he were sufficiently heavily bribed; so I gave himall the gold I had, and told him the truth, and offered to furnish himwith such information as would enable him to go up and stake the richbonanza which I had left behind on the Squaw River--all this if hewould only help me to escape. He agreed to accept my terms, despitethe risks he was taking in helping to conceal a criminal. He told methat you were up here, and said that it was no good going East, orstriking down to the States, since all the railroads would be watched, and that my only chance lay in making a dash due north for Keewatin. He gave me a guide for the first three hundred miles of the journey, and the swiftest team of huskies he had. He smuggled me out toSelkirk, and gave me introductions to such men as could be trusted onthe way. Before I left, I heard that they had made me an outlaw byplacing a thousand dollars on my head. 

"I've travelled day and night since then, only halting when mystrength gave out, or when I had to hide till darkness came that Imight pass unobserved by a Company's outpost. 

"And I'm followed; I know that. I have not seen him, but I can feelthat he is drawing nearer, and now is not far behind. I knew that ifI could reach you, in spite of what has happened between us, you wouldsave me. Granger, you must save me, if not for the sake of what I am, then because of what I once was to you in our London days. I know thatI've deteriorated and have become bad; but it was more the fault ofthe country than of the man. You know what happens to a fellow wholives up there, how greedy and gloomy he gets, always feeling that thegold is underground and that he must get to it even at the expense ofhis honour and his life. You've felt it, you came near doing what Ihave done. If Mordaunt hadn't stopped you, you would have stood whereI now stand. "

Granger broke in upon the frenzy of his appeal, asking abruptly, "Where is Mordaunt now?"

If his face had not been in the shadow, Granger would have seen howSpurling's lips tightened as to withstand sudden pain, and his bodyshuddered at that question. "Oh, Mordaunt is all right, " he said. "Heleft the Yukon soon after you left--he said that the fun was spoiltwithout you. I daresay he's seeking for El Dorado or else is married. "

"You are sure of that?" asked Granger. 

"Sure of what? All I know is that he quarrelled with me over youraffair because he thought that I had not used you justly; shortlyafterwards we broke up our partnership, and I was told that he hadgone out through Alaska, via Michael to Seattle. "

When the man at the back of the room said nothing, Spurling asked in atone of horror, "Why, you don't think that I killed him too, doyou, --just because I have owned to shooting one man?"

"I don't know what to think, " replied Granger, speaking slowly; "no, certainly I do not think that you killed him, _too_. "

"Then, what?"

"Never mind, since the matter's in doubt I will help you. What do youpropose to do?"

"Go on till I come to the Forbidden River, and hide there till thehunt for me is over, and they think that I am dead. "

"And then, if you survive?"

"Creep back into the world and begin life all afresh. "

"And how can I help you?"

"By lending me a fresh team, for mine is all tired out, and giving meprovisions for my journey, and delaying my pursuer when he arrives. "

"How shall I delay him!"

"Oh, you will know when you see him--there are many ways, some ofwhich are very effectual. " Spurling played with the butt of hisrevolver as he said these words, and looked at Granger tentatively, then looked aside. "For instance, the winter is breaking up and hemight fall through the ice; or while he is staying here several of hisdogs might die; or, at the least, you can tell him that you have notseen me and persuade him that he has passed me by. If he refuses tobelieve that, you can suggest that I have left the river and gone intothe forest, and so put him off my track--anything to give me time. "

"He would scarcely believe the last, " said Granger, "for on the LastChance there is only one trail--by the river up and down. And I wantyou to understand Spurling, that if I do help you it will be by cleanmeans; I intend to play fair all round. "

"Play fair! Do you call it fair play when a nation sets out to huntone man? I have only done what thousands have thought and intended. What better is the man who effects my capture, and gets the thousanddollars which they have set upon my head, and sends me to thescaffold, than I myself who without premeditation shot a man. You're anice one to talk about playing fair to the fellow who gave you yourchance, and was your friend, and whom you tried to murder! Which ofus, do you suppose, is the cleaner man?"

Granger did not answer; through the last few hours he had been askinghimself that same question. Spurling, thinking he had offended, beganto plead afresh. "Oh, John, if you knew all that I have suffered youwould pity me. God knows I've repented for what I did with drops ofblood. If I'd only thought before I acted, I might have known that Istood to gain nothing by it. What good was the gold to me when I gotit? I could only hide it, and wealth is not wealth when you have tokeep it secret to yourself. "

He paused exhausted, and fell back drooping in his chair. Granger'spity had been aroused. "Druce, " he said, "I have promised that I willhelp you; you must be content with that. "

Spurting clutched at his hand and pressed it to his lips. "And thereare things which you need not tell him?" he questioned. "Say thatthere are things that you will not tell. "

"There are things that I will not tell, " Granger repeated. "I will nottell him that I have seen you, and will refuse to give him help. "

Spurling's eyes had again sought out the west and the interveningstretch of sky, where from the east the reflected light of dawn hadalready begun to spread. 

"I don't like the look of it, " he muttered; "I can feel that he is notfar behind. Every time I look up-river I expect to see him, a dullbrown shadow, hurrying down between the banks of white. I must begoing; while I stay I cannot rest. "

So, when all had been got ready and Granger had supplied him with anew outfit and an untired team of dogs, he accompanied him out on tothe Point where the dawn was breaking. Then he told him of a cachewhich Beorn had made at the mouth of the Forbidden River, which hemight open, and from which he could get supplies if his own ran short. He went with him a mile down the ice, that he might guide him round apart of the trail which was rotten and unsafe to travel. At parting, Spurling grasped his hand; pointing back to the danger spot hewhispered, "That is one of the things which you need not tell. " Beforehe could answer him, he had lashed up his dogs and was on his waynorthwards. It was then that the thought of a final test flashedthrough Granger's mind. "Spurling, Spurling, " he called, "did you knowthat Mordaunt was a woman and not a man?"

Whether he had heard Granger could not tell, for he did not halt orturn his head; driving yet more furiously, urging his huskies forwardwith the whip and shouting them on, he vanished round the bend. 

Granger stood gazing after him, listening to the last faint echo ofhis cries; then he turned slowly and walked through the half-lightback to his lonely store. Over to his right, above the horizon the redsun leapt. He did not raise his eyes; but, as he walked, he whisperedover and over to himself words which seemed incredible, "And, if ithad not been for her, _I_ should have been like that. "

CHAPTER V

CITIES OUT OF SIGHT

In Keewatin the human intellect stands forever at a halt, awed in thepresence of a limitless serenity for which it can find no better namethan God, since, of all things which are incalculable, He seems mostinfinite. 

In this land of rivers and solitude Man is unnecessary, disregarded, and plays no part; if, after two hundred odd years of white, and manycenturies of Indian habitation, Man were to withdraw himselfto-morrow, he would leave no permanent record of his sojournthere--only a few outposts and forts, several far-scatteredindependent traders' stores, one or two missions and fishing-stations, all of them built of wood, which within a decade would have crumbledto decay, over which the tangled forest would silently close up. Instinctively he knows himself for an impudent intruder on somethingwhich is sacred; he hears continually what Adam heard when he stole ofthe fruit which was forbidden, God walking in the garden in the coolof the day--the accusing footsteps of God. His brain is staggered byan unchartered immensity in which he has no portion, which he can onlywatch. His individual worth to the universe is dwarfed by theimminence of the All: so nothing seems very serious which is onlypersonal and, since all things which we apprehend must become in somesense personal, nothing is very important. The procession of humaneffort becomes a spectacle at sight of which Homeric laughter maysometimes be permissible, but tears never. If a man once gives way toweeping in Keewatin, he will weep always. Only by the exercise of aself-restraint which at first seems brutal can life be endured there. 

Granger, as he walked toward his store under the shadow of the dawn, was conscious of all this. The land was wrapped in the intensestquiet; the very crunch of his snowshoes seemed a profanation, thoughhe trod lightly. When he had ascended the Point, he paused and gazedback. Already the thaw had commenced; down the still white face of thecountry, which lay at his feet like a shrouded corpse, the tears hadbegun to trinkle, though the eyes were tranquil and fast shut; thesight was as astounding to him as if a man six months dead should beseen to stir within his coffin of glass. Here and there in the expanseof forest he could see flashes of green and brown, of tree-tops fromwhich the snow had fallen. The river-banks, which yesterday had seemedchiselled out of solid marble, were to-day tunnelled and scarred withtiny rills and watercourses which groped their way feebly riverwards. As he stood in silence meditating, he was startled by the whirr ofwings, and looking southward descried the advance-guard of the firstflock of ducks. "Ha, the spring has come, " he cried; but immediatelyhe checked his ecstasy, for his eyes had again caught sight of theemotionless expression on that great white face with its closed eyesturned toward the sun. Though no voice spoke it seemed to him to say, making by its silence its meaning plain, "There is nothing of whichthe importance is so great that we should forsake our calm. "

He felt rebuked for vulgarity, as though he had been found shouting ina cathedral-nave where priests were praying for the peace of souls ofthe departed. He desired to hide himself; entering his shack, hepushed to the door. He was tired; his brain ached with thought, andhis thought was disjointed. He could not believe that Spurling hadever come; it was all an hallucination. Thinking about the past hadmade him imagine all that, or else he had dreamed it in the night. Hewent over detail by detail all that had seemed to him to happen; andeven then, when it fitted reasonably together, he could not becertain. It was too monstrous that Spurling should have become likethat! He would not believe it. Then his anxiety for Mordaunt sprang upand commenced to craze him. The terrible question throbbed through hismind, "Is Mordaunt dead?"

The mania for questions grew upon him. Three separate voices spokeclamorously at once: "Is Mordaunt dead?"

"Did Spurling murder him?"

"Am I mad?"

He stumbled to the far end of the room and flung himself down in hisbunk, burying his face in its coverings that he might shut out thelight and gain a moment's rest. But his imaginings followed and kneltbeside him. 

"Well, if I must think, " he whispered, "I will think of that which isbest. " He beckoned from out the shadows his memory of Mordaunt's face, and gave himself over to recalling all that it once had meant. Theyhad nicknamed him "The Girl" because of his shyness and modesty, andhad not always been particular in the jokes which they had made at hisexpense. Yes, and he had had a woman's ways from first to last. Nothing that had happened had been able to coarsen him; he had nevergiven way to loose talk or brutal jests, and in the presence ofsuffering had invariably been full of tenderness. 

Good heavens! pass on to the crisis--to that day when he had come tothe top of the shaft and called down to him! He had answered his call, praying him in an agonized voice to descend and rescue him. He couldsee him now approaching hurriedly, yet cautiously, through thedarkness, lifting high up his swinging lamp so that its rays fellacross his face. He could still remember how absurd it had seemed tosuppose that a creature, so small and fragile, could save him from_that other_. Yet he had; and after that, because of the relief hefelt, he had confessed. Then, in a moment of compassionateself-forgetfulness, Mordaunt had placed his arms about him and haddrawn down his head upon his breast--an action of which no man indealing with another man was ever capable; the mother-instinct wasmanifested there. In the flickering lamplight, with his head pressedclose to his companion's breast, feeling its rise and fall at eachstruggling intake of the breath, crouching underground upon thebed-rock, he had guessed the secret--_that Mordaunt was not a man_. From that hour he had loved her. She had never known that he sharedher secret. Thank God, he had remained so much a gentleman that he hadnot told her that! Who she was, why she had come to the Klondike, whatwas her proper name, he had not permitted himself to inquire; for himit had been sufficient that she was a woman, and that he loved her, and that he was unworthy of her love. After she had seen him shoot atSpurling he had avoided her, lest by contact with him she should bedefiled. He had vaguely hoped at the time of leaving that the daymight come, after he had cleansed himself and proved himself a man, when he might seek her out and ask her to be his wife. Through thelast three years he had lived for that. To have asked her then wouldhave been an insult, an act of cowardice. How would an upright womananswer a man whom she had just saved from homicide? How would sheregard a man who had discovered the secret of her sex in such amanner, because of her compassion, and had not had the decency to keepthat knowledge secret even from herself? So he had fled from theShallows for a double reason; that he might not do violence toSpurling, and that he might not betray himself to her. He had left herwithout a hint of his going, or a word of explanation. 

What had she thought of him? He had often wondered that. Had she alsoloved him, and not dared to speak about it? He half-suspected that. Ifshe had loved him and had spoken out, he would not have married her atthat time, when even he despised himself; to have done so would havebeen to drag her down. Still, he could not help speculating as to whatshe had said and thought on that morning when she awoke in the winterdreariness, and, gazing round the cabin, found that he had vanished. Had she regretted him, and had she sometimes, when Spurling had becomeintolerable, gone aside and wept? After three years, though he hadloved her, he could only recall her by her man's name, and picture herin her man's dress. 

Then, while he thought with closed eyes, that awful question cameagain, "Is Mordaunt dead?"

Whilst she was in the world it had been possible for him to strive tobe straightforward and courageous; but, _if she was dead_ . . . ! IfSpurling had murdered her, if he had lied to him and _she_ was hispartner, what then? Well, that all depended on whether Spurling hadknown her sex. If not, what a revenge he would take when he shouldconfront him, and inform him that he had murdered a woman, and not aman! He knew Spurling; for him the public ignominy of being hangedwould be as nothing compared with such private knowledge--it wouldthrust him into Hell in this life. 

Ah, but that could not be; God would not allow it! Spurling himselfhad said that he had not sunk so low as that. Yet, in case it might beso, he would keep his word and help him to escape--from the MountedPolice, but not from himself. He would be the executioner if theremust be one. The law should not rob him of his revenge. He would saveSpurling's life in case he might need to take it. 

Then, unbidden and against his will, there rose up the image of theman who had saved his life in Tagish Lake. Spurling had forestalledhim, bribed him beforehand, by restoring him his own life in exchangefor the life which he was doomed to take. Did that not make amends?Also he had rescued Mordaunt from disaster on the Skaguay trail, wherehe would certainly have perished had he been left. He had doneunconsciously that which Granger proposed to do of set purpose--saveda life that he might take it. Did not that in some measure makeamends? The problem was too complicated; it must work itself out inits own way. Yet, it would be a bitter irony if, after he hadtravelled a continent to avoid this deed, he should be forced to killSpurling in the end--Spurling, who had come to him of his own accord. Still more burlesque would it be if, after Spurling was at rest, heshould be hanged in his stead. 

But perhaps Mordaunt was not dead. 

To rid himself of these morbid questionings, he would give his remotermemory the reins to-day, at whatever cost; it was pleasanter toremember bygone unpleasantness than to live with the ills whichthreatened his present life. He recollected how some one had onceasked Carlyle, "Why does the Past always seem so much happier than thePresent?" And Carlyle's stern reply, "Because the fear has gone out ofit. " How odd it seemed to him that he should be recalling Carlyle upthere in Keewatin! Yet, because that answer was true, he took up thethread of his London life again, that so, with the drug of memory, hemight lay to rest his immediate misfortunes. He was a little boy againin the old red house on Clapton Common. One by one he entered itshomely rooms with their ancient furniture, quaint wall-paper, andgeneral look of substantial comfort. Once more he leant out of thebow-window at the back and gazed beyond the hill, upon which the housewas built, up which gardens climbed, divided by creeper-covered wallsof crumbling brick, down to where at its foot the river ran throughflats and marshes. Far away, a little to the right, old Woodfordraised its head; to the left Chingford, as yet unmodernized, showedup; and straight ahead, at a distance of seven miles, the steeple ofHigh Beech, in the kindly habitable forest of Epping, was in sight. This was the house in which he had first dreamed the dream by theglamour of which he had been led astray. His father had dreamed thesame dream, and his grandfather before him; it seemed to be a part ofthe walls and masonry, so interwoven was it with his memories of thathouse. It had been the first faery-story which he had ever listenedto, and had been told to him for the most part in that back room withthe bow-window, as he had sat on his grand-father's knee on winters'nights. 

The first time that he had heard it he could not have been more thanfive, and his father was absent, so his grandfather said, pursuing thedream on the other side of the world. This was the story as heremembered it. "In the land of Guiana there is a golden city namedManoa, but El Dorado in the Spanish language, which stands on theshores of a vast inland lake whose waters are salt, which is calledParima, and which is two hundred leagues in length. Juan Martinez wasthe first white man to visit it, and he did so through no fault of hisown! When he was with the Spanish army at the port of Morequito, thestore of powder, of which he had charge, caught fire and wasdestroyed. His commander, Diego Ordas, was so enraged that hesentenced him to death; but being appealed to by the soldiery withwhom Martinez was a favourite, he commuted his punishment tothis--that he should be set in a canoe alone, without any victual, only with his arms, and so turned loose on the great river. By thegrace of God he floated down stream and was captured by certainIndians, who, never having seen a European before or anyone of thatcolour, carried him into a land to be wondered at, and so from town totown, until he came to the golden city of Manoa of which Inca wasemperor. Now the emperor, when he beheld him, knew him to be aChristian, for not long since his brethren had been vanquished by theSpaniards in Peru; therefore he had him lodged in his palace andordered that he should be respectfully entertained. There Martinezlived for seven months, and all that while was not allowed to wanderbeyond the city's walls lest he should discover the country's secrets, for he had been brought thither blindfold and had been fifteen days inthe passage. When, years later, he came to die, he confessed to apriest that he had entered Manoa at high noon and that then hiscaptors had uncovered his eyes, and that he had travelled all that daytill nightfall through its streets and all the next, from the risingto the setting of the sun, of so great extent was it, until he arrivedat the palace. It was Martinez who had given to Manoa its name of ElDorado, because its roadways were paved with gold, and there was sogreat an abundance of that metal there that, before the emperor wouldcarouse with his captains, all those who were to pledge him werestripped naked, and their bodies anointed with white balsam, overwhich through hollow canes was blown by slaves the dust of fine gold, so that when his guests sat down to drink with him, they glistenedyellow in the sun like gilded statues. 

"When Martinez had obtained his freedom and returned to Trinidad, andtold his story, many other adventurers set out in quest of Manoa; butnone so much as saw it save only Pedro de Urra. He, after incrediblelabours, at length arrived at a mountain peak whence, looking down, far away in the distance he could just descry the shining roofs ofpalaces and golden domes of Inca temples, wherein, he was told, werestored gold images of women and children more beautiful than God hadyet wrought into flesh and blood. But his strength was spent and histroops were famished, also the Incas' armies were moving forward tocheck his advance; therefore he had to retreat, and to return to theseacoast, where he fretted away his life in dreaming of thesplendours of which he had only just had sight. Fifty years laterBerreo, governor of Trinidad, set out from Nuevo Reyno with sevenhundred horse and slaves, and descended the Cassanar river, bound uponthe same errand. What with fever and poisonous water he lost many ofhis men and cattle, so that, when he reached the Province of Amapaia, he had but one hundred and twenty soldiers left, and these were sickand dying; and so he also was forced to abandon his search. And thisman Raleigh captured, and from him extorted his secrets, when hesailed to discover and conquer El Dorado for Queen Elizabeth, havingin his company Jacob Whiddon, the English pirate, and George Giffordwho was captain of the Lion's Whelp. 

"All the way across the ocean they studied the records of theadventurers who had sought before them, till they had them all bymemory; for they hoped to find those same wonders which Lopez saysthat Pizarro found in the first home of the Incas: 'A royal city whereall the vessels of the emperor's house, table, and kitchen, were ofgold and silver, and the meanest of silver and copper for strength andhardness of metal. He had in his wardrobe hollow statues of gold whichseemed giants, and the figures in proportion and bigness of all thebeasts, birds, trees, and herbs that earth produceth; and of all thefishes that the sea or waters of his kingdom breedeth. He had alsoropes, budgets, chests, and troughs of gold and silver, heaps ofbillets of gold, that seemed wood marked out to burn. Finally, therewas nothing in his country whereof he had not the counterfeit in gold. Yea, and they say, that the Incas had a garden of pleasure in anisland near Puna, where they went to recreate themselves when theywould take the air of the sea, which had all kinds of garden-herbs, flowers, and trees of gold and silver, an invention and magnificencetill then never seen. Besides all this, he had an infinite quantity ofsilver and gold unwrought in Cuzco. ' The counterpart of all thesemarvels Raleigh hoped to find, when he had sailed up the Orinoco toits watershed. 

"So, when he had gathered all the information which he could fromBerreo, he departed and rowed up the river in the galego boat of theLion's Whelp, till on the fourth day he dropped into the waters of theGreat Amana. Up the Great Amana he travelled, always getting news ofhis city, always being told that it was farther inland. On the banksof this river grew diverse sorts of fruit good to eat, flowers andtrees of such variety as were 'sufficient to make ten books ofherbals. ' And everywhere he saw multitudes of birds of all colours, some carnation, some crimson, some orange-tawny, purple, watchet, andof all other sorts, so that, as he himself has said, 'It was unto us agreat good passing of the time to behold them, besides the relief wefound in killing some store of them; and still as we rowed, the deercame down feeding by the water's side, as if they had been used to thekeeper's call. '

"Lured on by these delights, he journeyed farther inland until at lasthe came to the first great silver mine; but here the Orinoco and allthe other rivers had risen from four to five feet in height, so thatit was not possible by the strength of man or with any boat whatsoeverto row into the river against the stream. However, before his return, one day as it drew towards sunset, he had sight of a crystal mountain, which was said to be studded with diamonds and precious stones, whichshone afar off, the appearance of which was like to that of a whitechurch tower of exceeding height. Over the summit rushed a mightyriver, which touched no part of the mountainside, and fell with agreat clamour as if a thousand bells were knocked together; so, thoughhe did not find El Dorado, he was somewhat comforted by the marvel ofthis sight. Also, before he left he saw _El Madre del Oro_, the motherof gold, which proved that treasure lay not far underground. "

So, hour after hour, and night after night, the old man had told hismagic story of the search for El Dorado to the little boy. Andsometimes he would vary it with other tales and legends of men who hadgone upon quests equally wild; of Ponce de Leon, who had sought forthe Bimini Isle, where arose a fountain whose waters could cause mento grow young again; of the Sieur D'Ottigny, who set sail for theUnknown in search of wealth, singing songs as if bound for a bridalfeast; and of Vasseur, who first brought news of the distantAppalachian Mountains, whose slopes teem with precious metals and withgems beyond price. But always the narration would return to El Doradoon the shores of Parima. Then the little boy would ask, "But, Grandpa, is it true, or is it only a faery-tale? Was there ever such a city, and does it exist to-day?" Whereupon the old gentleman would grow veryserious and would reply, "Certainly there is such a city, my dear; forwhen I was young I went in search of it, and your father is out therefinding it to-day. "

After which answer he would get out maps, and show the child the redlines, which were his own journeys, and the exact spot in thewatershed of the Orinoco where he believed the city to stand. Thenthey would reason about it together, bending low beneath the lamp, tracing out the various routes of past explorers, until his mothercame in and, seeing what they were so busy about, carried him off tobed. At an early age he discovered that his mother approved neither ofthe grand-father's stories, nor of her husband's absence. She wasoften at pains to tell him that there was no such city, that thestories were all fables, and that his grandpapa had wasted his fortuneand talents in its search. But the boy believed in the fables, for heliked to think of his father as sailing up the Great Amana, where thedeer feed along the banks, until at last he came to the golden citywhere the men are like gilded statues. He was sure that his papa wouldreturn rich one day, bringing with him an Inca princess for his son tomarry. 

But, when his father did return, he brought back with him only afever-shattered body for his wife to nurse, and a plucky belief thathe would succeed next time. Ah, but those were good days which he hadspent by his father's bedside, when he had gazed on that fair-haired, soldierly man who had trodden in Raleigh's footsteps! He rememberedhow his father had laughed when he had asked in awe-struck toneswhether he might be allowed to kiss his hands, and how he had said, "If I do not find, you will seek for it some day"--and then he hadfelt proud. How eagerly he had listened when the two explorers, fatherand son, had sat together and had talked over their various travels!And how he could remember his father's account of his latest journey!His mother had been out at the time when it was related; they nevermentioned these matters in her presence because they pained her;moreover, if she was near by when they were talked about, she wouldcontrive some excuse for snatching the boy away. They had watchedtheir opportunity, however, and his father had told him. 

He had set out in a canvas sailing boat, and had ascended the Orinocofor twenty days. Every now and then he had come to rapids, where hehad had to go ashore to carry his boat, or to marshes, where he hadhad to wade. As he travelled farther from the mainland, his Indianguides had deserted him till there was none left, and he had had to goon alone. Day by day he had passed by great rocks, on which there waswriting engraved, which, perhaps, contained directions for travellerswho, ages since, had been bound for that same city; but they were nowof no use to him, because they were written in a forgotten languageand in an alphabet which not even the Indians could understand. So hehad gone on until at last he came to the crystal mountain, and thewaterfall which Raleigh had described; and after that he had travelledfurther than even great Raleigh himself, or any other white man. Itwas at this point that the boy had gasped and asked to be allowed tokiss his father's hands. 

Then his father had told him how beyond the mountain there had seemedto be nothing but tangled wood and swamp, and how he had caught feverand wandered on in delirium until, when he came to himself, he hadfound himself standing on the shores of what had once been a vastinland lake, but which had now become partially dry, through which itwas only possible to wade. So he left his boat and waded on, sometimesshoulders high, for four days; for, though he was racked with pains, he would not give up because he believed the lake to be Parima. Onthe evening of the fourth day, when his strength was almost spent andhe was ready to sink with faintness, he came to an island and saw inthe distance, in the light of the setting sun, golden spires and theroofs of houses many miles away, which he knew to be El Dorado. But bythis time he had only two days' provisions left and dared not venturefurther; so he, like Pedro de Urra, having come within sight of hisdesire, had been compelled to turn back. Of his return journey he saidnothing; Granger learnt that from his mother in later years. It hadbeen made in agonies of hunger and thirst, which had nearly robbed himof his life. Nevertheless, his father had told him that, so soon as hegot well again, he was going back, and that he would reach El Doradothis time. True to his word, when his fever had left him, he had badethem all good-bye, making his son secretly promise that, if he shouldnot come back, when he became a man, he would follow him in the quest. Then had come the two years of anxious waiting in which they had hadno news of him, and the final acceptance of the belief that he wasdead. But his grandfather would not lose faith; he himself had oncebeen missing for five years. He said that his son had reached thecity, and was pushing homeward through the Andes on to the Pacificside. Night by night, in that back room with the bow-window, he hadcollected his records and studied them beneath the lamp. "He must beabout here by now, " he would say, pointing to a certain place. But theboy's mother had only smiled sadly, saying, "Is he not yetundeceived?" Then one evening they had left him in his chair, and hadnot heard him come up to bed, and in the morning had found him sittingstiff and silent in the sunshine, with the map of Guiana spread outbefore him and his finger on the spot where he had written EL DORADO, the magic word. 

The child had never forgotten that sight, its impression had sunk deepinto his nature; somehow it had become symbolic for him of loyalty toone's chosen purpose in life. As he had once asked permission to kisshis father's hands, so, when there was no one in the room to watchhim, he had stolen up and smoothed his hands with reverence againstthe cushions of the chair where the old grey head had last rested--buthe had never sat there. After the old man's death, all things in thatroom became objects for his veneration. It was just this capacity inthe small boy for hero-worship which his mother never tried tounderstand; so he kept his secret, and thus began the breach which waspresently to widen. From that day Granger had pledged himself, when heshould become a man, to go in search of his father and to inherit hisquest; and to such a nature as Granger's that childish pledge wasbinding. He could never be persuaded that his father was dead; healways spoke and thought of him as a soldierly fair-haired man, livingin a desirable land hard by a garden, like to that of the isle nearPuna, which had herbs and flowers and trees of gold and silver, onewho was an honoured guest in the emperor's house where the meanestutensils were of silver and copper for strength. At first, when onlyhe and his mother were left, he had spoken to her of these fancies;but she had shown herself more and more averse to their mention, so hehad learnt to keep his longings to himself. 

His mother was a practical woman, born of a race of lawyers anddiplomatists. Hence she coveted above all things for her son, as shehad done for his father before him, the certainties of life--socialrecognition and a banking-account; she had no sympathy with theories, however heroic, or with any kind of success which was not obvious andwithin hand-stretch. She was one of those safe people who alwayschoose to-day's salary, if it be promptly paid, in preference to themore generous triumph of a to-morrow which may never come. She waswisely parsimonious in all things and, daring nothing herself, had nopatience with natures which were more courageous. Much of her ownmoney, and all of her husband's, had been spent by him in hisfruitless explorations of Guiana. Now that he was gone, she discreetlyinvested what was left of her fortune, and deprived herself of allluxuries, so that when the time should come, her boy should have hischance in life unembarrassed by his father's previous recklessexpenditures. She was proud of her son, for he was handsome; but shenever realised that half a day of spoken love and sympathy canpurchase more friendship than twenty years of benefits punctually anddutifully conferred--still less did she recognise the necessity for amother consciously to cultivate a friendship with her boy. Not thatshe was ungentle; she craved his affection, but she made the mistakeof demanding it as her right--all of which is the same as saying thatshe was mentally insensitive, and was unaware that with thoughtfulpeople the road to the heart must first lead through the mind; ofpeople's minds she was incurious. She gave her son the kind ofeducation which befits men to inherit rather than to earn. His wisheswere never consulted; nor even when he went to university was he givenany choice. Like a dumb brute beast he was goaded forward withoutknowledge of his destination, and was expected to be grateful to thehand which kept him moving, and prevented him from turning aside. 

He permitted this well-intentioned despotism not through any lack ofspirit, but partly because it was well-intentioned, and mostly becausehis immediate present seemed of little consequence to him. He felthimself to be an embryo prophet who awaited his hour; when that shouldstrike, he would concentrate. Not until he was twenty-two years of agedid he expostulate, and by that time it was too late; his training hadmade him dependent upon money for success. His mother had the money, and she selected the Bar as a suitable profession for him; then it wasthat he broke his twelve years' silence, and scandalised her with theinformation that his great ambition was to follow in his father'sfootsteps, and to find both him and El Dorado, fulfilling the promisewhich he had given as a child. Startled by this unexpected confession, she had charged him with disloyalty and ingratitude to herself; toavoid complications and a breach which he foresaw would becomeirreparable, he had accepted her choice and studied for a barrister. This utterance of his secret, however, had only served to make himaware of the intensity of his own desire. He could not work, he couldnot rest, he could not apply his mind; always he saw before him thetropic river with its multitude of carnation, crimson, andorange-tawny birds, its low green banks where the deer come down tograze, and far ahead and visionary the swampy lake, built on whoseshore the golden city raises up its head. So books, and law, andLondon became for him the custodians of his captivity--things to behated and despised. 

In the three years which followed he had made one friend, a miningengineer, by name Druce Spurling. In him he had confided, and Spurlinghad responded with a sympathy which did him credit, kindling to theromance of the story. He had tested with his expert knowledge theevidence which Granger had laid before him for the belief that such acity as El Dorado had existed, and he had been satisfied--or, at anyrate, had been made certain that in the watershed of the Orinoco goldwas yet to be found in great quantities, as in the Spaniard's time. Hehad promised that, so soon as he had the capital, he would help him inhis quest. Granger coveted the journey for its adventure, and theopportunity of fulfilling his promise to his father; Spurling only forits possibilities of attaining wealth. In their community of ambitionthis difference of purpose was lost to sight. Then, when Granger wastwenty-five and had just completed his course of reading for the Bar, his great chance came. It was the year of the Klondike gold-rush andSpurling was going out; he wanted a partner, and offered to takeGranger with him if he, in return, would promise to give him one thirdof all the gold he mined. Their idea was that, with the money thusearned, they would be able to provide funds for the following up oftheir dream of El Dorado. Granger accepted the offer at once, partlyinfluenced by his desire to prove to his mother that he _could_ dosomething by himself. After a painful farewell, he had departed toseek his fortune in the North World. 

Ah, how his mother had cried when he went away! He recalled all thatto-day, now that he was in Keewatin, and gazed back incredulously uponthat mistaken former self, wondering whether he could have been reallylike that. London, indeed! What would he not give to be in Londonto-day; to stand in Fleet Street, listening to the roar of the passingtraffic and brushing shoulders with living, companionable men? Ahwell, what good purpose would it serve to think about it! He hadchosen his own fate. Here he was at Murder Point, and he would soon bemarried to Peggy, after which, no matter what avalanche of good luckbefell him, there would be no return. What would his proud old mothersay to a little half-breed grandchild? The mere thought made himsmile. In cynical self-derision, he pictured himself accompanied byhis Indian tribe, knocking at the door of the old red house on ClaptonCommon--and his reception there. He gave a name to his picture, and itwas "_The Return of the Ne'er-do-well_. "

 * * * * *

His brain was getting cloudy; he could not tell whether he was asleepor awake. He felt as if he had been bound hand and foot so that hecould not stir, and had been raised aloft to a dizzy height. He knewthat he was far above the earth, for he was very cold and wasconscious of mists which drifted across his face and left it damp. Suddenly he discovered that he could open his eyes. Looking down, hesaw with supernatural distinctness the entire course of the frozenriver-bed. Far to the north he could descry Spurling, ploddingdesperately on across the thawing ice. A few miles to the west, perhaps an hour's journey from Murder Point, he could see a secondfigure, tall, soldierly, erect, which approached with swift cleanstrides, through the solitude, inevitably as Fate--the symbol ofJustice in pursuit of Crime. He watched with fascination how thedistance between the hunter and the hunted narrowed; only one thingcould save the criminal from capture--the intervention of MurderPoint. 

And then the cloud rolled back again; he closed his eyes, and lostconsciousness in untroubled forgetfulness. 

CHAPTER VI

THE PURSUER ARRIVES

He was awakened by a man bending over him and holding a lighted matchto his face. Careless as usual of preserving his life, he did notattempt to rise or defend himself, but simply gazed back indifferentand a little bewildered. He did not recognise the man; he was an utterstranger. As if wearied with an inspection which did not interest him, he turned his eyes away, and found that the room had become dark. Howmany hours he had slept, he could not calculate; perhaps nine or ten. He wondered what had made the night return so quickly. He lookedtoward the window, and saw that it was blinded with snow; and, as helistened, could hear the roaring of the wind, and, in the lull whichfollowed, the rustling and settling down of the flakes. Then the matchwent out, and neither of them could perceive the other's face. Grangerarose and pushed back the shutter of the stove, that so they might geta little light. "I needn't ask you to make yourself at home, " he said;"you've done that already. "

The stranger did not reply, but surveyed him closely all the while. 

"You must have had good company out there to be so silent now that youhave arrived. "

Then the man spoke. "What's your name?" he asked abruptly. "Is itGranger?"

"I was always told so, and have as yet found no good reason forbelieving otherwise. "

"Then this is the store of Garnier, Parwin, and Wrath, to which I wasdirected by Robert Pilgrim of God's Voice?"

"That is right, but I don't often have the pleasure of entertainingguests from God's Voice. "

The stranger paused in doubt, as though choosing the best words tosay; then he blurted out, "But you're a gentleman?"

"I hope so. "

"An Oxford man?"

"Yes. "

"What college?"

"Corpus. "

"Did you row in the Eight?"

"Yes. "

"I thought so. At what time?"

"When Corpus went up five places and bumped the House on the lastnight. "

"I was stroke in the 'Varsity boat that year, and rowed at six in theChrist Church Eight that night. "

"Then you must be Strangeways?"

"Yes, Corporal Strangeways of the Northwest Mounted Police, butStrangeways of the Oxford boat at one time. I fancied I knew you; yourowed at seven for Corpus, and it was you who won that race. "

"I and seven others, " laughed Granger; "but what brings you up here atthis time?"

"We'll talk about that later. At present I'm hungry; I've hardly had ameal since I left God's Voice. "

"Then you're travelling in haste?"

"Yes, in haste. "

Granger set to work to prepare a meal, while Strangeways talked to himof the Cornmarket, the Turl, and the Hinkseys, running over thefamiliar geography for the sheer pleasure of recalling kindly Oxfordnames. Presently he asked him if he remembered the little maid who hadserved in the river-inn of the King's Arms at Sanford. Granger had hada summer love-affair with that same maid, as had many a youngwater-man before and after him. One quiet Sunday evening, when herfickle passion had reached its short-lived height, he had even beenallowed the felicity of accompanying her to vespers at the quaint oldNorman Church, which lay snuggled away in woods behind the Thames. They had returned to the inn by a roundabout way, through the meadowsbeneath the twilight, speaking all manner of intense things, and, verywonderfully, believing both themselves and their sayings to besincere. When he had entered his skiff and pushed out from the bank, she had called him back and royally permitted him to give her hisfirst and, as it proved, only kiss. But he had not known that, and hadrowed elated Oxfordwards between the hayfields, dreaming his ecstasyon into the future--when it had already achieved its climax, andslipped out of his life. Since then it had come to seem very simpleand absurd, as do all love affairs, however august, which are liveddown--for no love affair was ever outlived. So, because he had beenfond of her, he was glad to listen to Strangeways, even when herelated her newer conquests over more recent undergrads, and her laterromantic history. By all accounts she was a modern Helen of Troy, uncontaminate, forever fair and forever juvenile. 

And all the while he was listening, Granger was planning by whatmeans he might detain Strangeways, and hazarding what progressSpurling had made by this time in his escape. "A life for a life, " hethought; "and Spurling once saved my life. Until I have cancelled thatdebt, even though Mordaunt has been slain, I will stand by him. "

Throughout the winter months all meals were the same at Murder Point, consisting of black tea, salt bacon, and bannocks, which are a kind ofhard biscuit, made of flour and water mixed to a thick paste and thenbaked. This diet becomes pretty monotonous, but is the traveller'suniversal fare in Keewatin. In those far regions men are notparticular how or what they eat; of necessity they abandon therefinements of civilisation as needless and cumbrous. To-day, however, partly to protract his stay and so give Spurling time, partly toassert his waning gentility, the memory of which in its heydayStrangeways shared, he attempted to be lavish, to set a table, and toentertain. For cloth he spread a dress-length of gaudy muslin, such asIndians purchase for their squaws. He opened some tins of canned goodsthat he might provide his guest with more than one course. He built uphis fire, and commenced to cook. All this used up time; and theexpending of time was what he most desired. 

When the meal was finished Strangeways rose up restlessly, as thoughhe had just remembered his errand, and went to the door to see whatprogress the storm had made. The moment the door was opened the windswept in, driving a fall of snow before it. 

"It seems to me, " said Granger, "that you're going to be snow-boundfor a time. This'll make travelling dangerous, for the thaw hasalready weakened the ice in places and now the snow'll cover themover, making them appear safe. It's strange, for blizzards don't oftenhappen so late as this. "

"Well, there's one comfort, " said Strangeways, "it's the same for allalike; if I'm delayed, so is someone else. "

Granger turned his back on him, and walked over to the window where hestood tapping on the glass, attempting to dislodge the snow which hadspread itself out like a blanket across the panes. "Poor devil, " hesaid, "I pity him, whoever he is. He can find no place of shelter inall the three hundred and twenty miles which stretch between God'sVoice and Crooked Creek, unless he comes here or falls in with sometrapper's camp. "

"Then you have had no one here lately?"

"No, I haven't seen an Indian for over a month. They don't visit me solate in the winter as this; they wait for the open season, when theycan bring in their furs by water. "

"But the man I'm speaking of is white. He drives a team of five greyhuskies, the leader of which has a yellow face and a patch ofbrindled-brown upon its right hindquarters. Haven't you seen such anone go by within the last twenty-four hours?"

Granger shook his head; "Perhaps you've passed him on the way, " hesuggested; "if he knew that you were following him, he may have dodgedyou purposely and doubled back. "

"He knew all right; it was because he knew that I was following thathe fled. I can hardly have passed him, for he was seen by a half-breedten miles from God's Voice, and I've travelled slowly and kept acareful watch between there and here. Besides I tracked his trail towithin an hour's journey of the Point, until the snow came down andobliterated it. He was going weakly at the last; both man and dogsmust have been spent. "

"Then he must be somewhere to the westward, between the spot where youlost his trail and here. "

"Perhaps, but the argument against that is that his trail was at leasttwelve hours old. Anyhow, I shall have to wait until this blizzard isover. During that time he may struggle in from the west, or, if he hasgone by, may be driven back here for shelter by the gale. "

Granger had not thought of that contingency, that Spurling might bedriven back by the weather, might push open the door at any moment andgive him the lie before Strangeways. Perhaps a look of fear passedacross his face, which betrayed him. At any rate, the next thing heheard was Strangeways, saying to him in a careless voice, "Of course, between gentlemen it is scarcely necessary to ask you whether you aretelling the truth!"

"It is scarcely necessary. "

"Then I beg your pardon for asking. "

"You needn't. You've got to do your duty irrespective of caste;whatever I once was, you can see for yourself what I am. "

"Yes, a gentleman down on his luck; but still a gentleman. Strange howone gets knocked about by life, isn't it? I little thought when Icaught a glimpse of you, leaning on your oar exhausted at the end ofthat race, that the next time we should meet would be up here. It'scurious the things a fellow remembers. Our boats were alongside, justoff the Merton barge; the first thing I saw when I recovered and satup on my slide was your face, deadly pale, almost within hand-stretch. I don't recall ever to have seen you again until I struck that matchan hour ago and held it to you, and you opened your eyes; then it allcame back. When you were sleeping you looked haggard, just about thesame as you did then. If I'd seen you awake, I don't suppose I shouldhave remembered. . . . I didn't even know where Keewatin was in thosedays. If anyone had told me that it was a village near Jericho Ishould have believed him. I daresay you were nearly as ignorant; andnow we're here in your shack. "

Granger, anxious to keep Strangeway's attention from his pursuit, andhis own thoughts occupied, inquired, "And what brought you into theNorthwest Territories?"

"Oh, the usual thing--a girl. She was ward to my father, and was toinherit a considerable property when she came of age. I was in lovewith her, and my father was keen that I should marry her; there wasonly one hindrance, that her opinion didn't coincide with ours. Ifound out that my father was trying to break her spirit, and force herto his will. I couldn't allow that; so, having nothing better to do, Ileft home and came to Canada for a while. Mind you, I'm not condemningmy father; he thought that he was doing the best for both our sakes. But I wish he'd left us alone; if he had, I daresay it would have comeout all right. She was one of those girls of whom the physiognomistssay, 'Can be led by kindness, but cannot be driven. ' The moment shewas ordered to do a thing, which in the ordinary course of events shemight have chosen to do of her own free will, she refused and hatedit. 

"When I got to Montreal I was confronted by that stupid superstitionof the Canadians, that every young Englishman who has had a bettereducation than themselves, and is possessed of a private income fromthe old country, must be a remittance-man and a ne'er-do-well--thathe's been sent out because he wasn't wanted by his family. I tried toget employment; not that I needed it, but because I wanted to work. The moment I opened my lips and didn't speak dialect or slang, anddisplayed hands which were not workman's hands, I was shown out. So Idrifted west to Calgary and, after doing a little ranching there, enlisted in the Mounted Police. "

"Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes, it's rather a lark, arresting the people who at firstaffected to despise you. I can always keep myself cheerful by thehumour of that. If you've lost your sense of the ridiculous, you'dbetter join the Northwest Mounted Police--for an Englishman the cure'scertain. "

"And how about the girl?"

"She did a Gilbert and Sullivan trick. After I'd left home my fatherguessed the reason of my departure, and instead of giving her a rest, redoubled his efforts to make her marry me, that so he might bring meback. He was fond of both of us; we'd been brought up together, and hecouldn't bear the idea of either of us being separated from himself. He made an awful mess of things, poor old gentleman; he persecuted herwith his arguments to such an extent that one morning he woke up andfound that she had vanished. He made all sorts of inquiries, but tothe day of his death could never get any news of her whereabouts. "

Strangeways paused and commenced to light his pipe. Granger, who hadbecome interested in the story, waited a minute for him to proceed, but when he had kindled his tobacco and still sat smoking in silence, "Well, and what next?" he asked. 

"That is all, " said Strangeways; "now tell me about yourself. "

"I went into the Klondike with the gold-rush of nearly five years ago. I travelled with a man named Spurling, and a young chap named JervisMordaunt, whom we chummed up with in our passage over the Skaguay. " Hewas conscious that Strangeways had jerked out his foot and was lookinghard at him. He paid no attention to that, but proceeded leisurelywith his tale. He conceived that it would answer his purpose better, in order that he might make the corporal unsuspicious of his share inSpurling's escape, to speak of him in a hostile manner, and to mentionall the small and private faults which he could place to hisdiscredit. He told a story of personal disputes between himself andhis partners over the working of claims, which left the impressionthat Spurling and Mordaunt had always sided together against himself, and that finally he, getting sick of the climate, and quarrellings, and his continuous bad luck, had come outside, travelled to Winnipeg, and taken service with Garnier, Parwin, and Wrath, because he was indanger of starving. Of El Dorado, or his real reason for leaving theYukon, he said nothing. 

When he had ended, Strangeways, who had never for a second removed hisgaze, inquired in a hoarse, strained voice, "And this man Mordaunt, what was he like?"

"Oh, he was a slim little fellow; we nicknamed him 'The Girl' becauseof his ways, and because he was so slight. "

"How old was he?"

"He couldn't have been more than eighteen when we first met him, forhe never had to shave. "

"Did he ever tell you anything about himself, where he came from, whowere his family, or anything like that?"

"Not that I remember; he was always very close about himself. But whatmakes you ask these questions? Do you think that you recognise him?"

Strangeways rose up and paced the room, betraying his agitation, butwhen he spoke his voice was level and restrained. "By God, I hopenot, " he said. 

Every moment Granger dreaded that he would hear him say that Mordauntwas dead, and yet he wanted certainty. He watched Strangeways pacingup and down, and longed to question him, yet was fearful that in sodoing he would betray his own secret. At last he could bear thesuspense no longer; that regular walking to and fro tortured him, itwas like the constant swinging of a pendulum and made him giddy tolook at. When he spoke, it was in a voice so shrill that it surprisedhimself. 

"Tell me once and for all, " he cried, "has anything happened to him?Is he dead?"

Strangeways halted, and regarded him with a look half-stern, half-compassionate. 

"As for Spurling, you hated him, did you not?" he inquired. 

Granger clenched his hands and his voice trembled. "I hated him somuch, " he said, "that there were times when I would gladly have struckhim dead. "

"Then, why didn't you?"

Granger started; the question was spoken so fiercely, and was sosearching and direct. It aroused him to a sense of his danger, andhelped him to recover himself. 

"In the first place you would have hanged me, and in the second therewas Mordaunt. " As soon as he had said it, he knew that he had made aslip. 

"And why Mordaunt?"

He hesitated a minute, gathering himself together. He could feel thescrutiny of Strangeways' eyes and was conscious that he was breathinghard. 

The question was repeated, "And why Mordaunt?"

"Because Mordaunt was such a clean fellow that I couldn't do anythingshabby in his presence, " he said. 

"How clean?" Strangeways persisted. 

"Why, in every way; he was so honourable. "

"But I thought you said just now that he always sided with Spurlingwhen it came to a dispute?"

"So he did in a sense. He never seemed to think that the thing wequarrelled about was worth while, and treated it all with a well-bredcontempt. Spurling was usually the one who was unjust, and I the onewho complained; so I was usually the one to start the wrangle. Therefore, though he despised Spurling, he always seemed to blame mefor my pettiness. "

Strangeways turned on him his honest, manly gaze, as if he were aboutto ask again, "Is that the truth?" But he did not say it. Granger felta cur for lying, but he was determined to fight for Spurling's life, and, if that were necessary, for his own revenge. 

"And you have not seen Spurling go by the Point?" asked Strangeways. 

"No. " He said it quite ordinarily, as if he were answering acommonplace. Then he realised that he had been caught in a trap andhad not manifested enough surprise. He slowly raised up his eyes, shame-facedly, like a schoolboy detected cribbing, when the mastersteals up behind. 

"I'm afraid, after all, that you are not a gentleman, " was all thatStrangeways said. 

Granger shrank back and flushed as if he had been struck across theface; he did not attempt to defend himself or expostulate. The windhad died down outside; it was evident that the storm had spent itself. In the silence which followed he could hear the padding steps of thehuskies going round the house, and the sound of them sniffing aboutthe door. Strangeways, who had been fastening on his snowshoespreparatory to departure, walked across the room and raised the latch. He stepped out, leaving the door open behind him. A bar of moonlightleapt instantly inside, as it had been a fugitive who had been keptlong waiting. Then he heard the voice of Strangeways calling, "Granger, Granger. "

He rose up hurriedly, thinking that perhaps Spurling had been drivenback by the blizzard and was returning to his danger. When he reachedthe threshold he saw only this--the moon tossing restlessly in acloudy sky, shining above a shadowy land of white; Strangewaysstanding twenty paces distant with his back towards him; and, seatedon their haunches between Strangeways and the threshold, five lankgrey huskies, one of which had a patch of brindled-brown upon itsright hindquarters and a yellow face. 

CHAPTER VII

THE CORPORAL SETS OUT

It would have been easy to shoot Strangeways at that time, and he musthave known it; yet, he was so much a gentleman that he accepted therisk, and had the decency to turn his back when circumstancescompelled him to give a man the lie. Granger wondered whether courtesywas the motive; or whether he was only testing him out of curiosity, to see of what fresh vulgarity of deceit he was capable. 

As he stood in the doorway, his gaze wandered from the broad shouldersof Corporal Strangeways, late stroke of the 'Varsity Eight, to thetreacherous eyes of the gaunt grey beast before him which, by reasonof its unusual markings and untimely appearance, had once and foreverthrown Spurling's game away. There was something Satanic andsuggestive of evil about those green and jasper eyes, and the mannerin which they blinked out upon him from the furious yellow head. Werethey prompting him to crime, saying, "Why don't you fire? He can'tdefend himself; see, his back is turned?" No, not that. Hehalf-believed that the brute was endowed with human intelligence, andhad betrayed his late master of set purpose--perhaps, in revenge forthe many beatings he had received on the trail from Selkirk to MurderPoint. There was a vileness in the creature's look that was degradingand stirred up hatred--and surely, the lowest kind of enmity whichcan be entertained by man is toward a unit of the dumb creation. Thathe should feel so, humiliated and angered Granger. Was there notenough of ignominy for him to endure without that? He drew hisrevolver, took aim at this yellow devil--but could not fire. The beastdid not cringe and run away, zigzagging to avoid the bullets, stoopinglow on its legs, as is the habit of huskies when firearms are pointedat them; it sat there patiently blinking, a little in advance of itsfour grey comrades, with a mingled expression of amusement and boredomin its attitude, like a sleepy old bachelor uncle at a Christmasentertainment when Clown and Harlequin commence their threadbare jestsand fooleries. He might have been yawning and saying to himself, "Hangit all! Why do I stay? I know the confounded rubbish by heart--allthat these fellows will do and say. "

Granger's hand dropped to his side; this wolf-dog looked so far fromignorant--so much wiser than himself. Could it be that he also wasplaying in the game? Was it possible that he also was intent onhelping Spurling? Well, then, he should have his chance. 

For himself the season for deception was at an end; he had lied togain time for the fugitive, now let him see what truth could effect. He waded through the snow to Strangeways, tapped him on the shoulder, and was made painfully aware of the opinion held of him by the way inwhich the corporal screwed his shoulder aside. 

"I suppose I seem to you a pretty mean kind of a beast?"

"I suppose you do. "

"I seem so to myself; but I have an excuse to make--that this man oncesaved my life. "

"So you're a hero in disguise?"

"No, but I couldn't go back on a man who had done that. "

"I fail to see that that is a reason why you should have lied. "

"I called it an excuse. "

"In this case the words mean the same. "

"Well, then, I had a reason: if the person whom Spurling murdered isthe person whom I . . . "

"Indeed! So you knew that much, did you?" At mention of the word"murdered, " Strangeways had swung fiercely round and confrontedGranger. 

"Yes, I know that much. And if the man whom Spurling murdered is theman whom I suspect him to be, I had intended to dispense with law andto exact the penalty slowly, up here whence there is no escape, myself. "

"Then you'll be sorry to hear that you've lied to no purpose. Theperson whom Spurling murdered was not a man, you damned scoundrel. "

Strangeways turned sharply away from him, and, moving as briskly onhis snowshoes as the unpacked state of the snow would allow, commencedmethodically to go about the store in ever widening circles. Heevidently suspected that the fugitive was still in hiding there, orhad been at the time of his arrival, and had since escaped, in whichcase the snow would bear traces of his flight. When he had searchedthe mound in vain, he turned his attention to the river-bed where histeam of dogs was stationed. Granger, watching him from above, saw thathe had halted suddenly and was bending down. Then he heard himcalling his dogs together and saw him harnessing them quickly into hissledge. Panic seized him lest Strangeways should drive away withouttelling him the name of _this thing, which was not a man_, whichSpurling had murdered, and _whether the deed had been done in theKlondike_. Also he was curious to see for himself what it was that hehad found in the snow down there, which made him so eager to set out. He ploughed his way down the hillside, breaking through the surfaceand slipping as he ran, till he arrived out of breath at theriver-bank. Then he saw the meaning of this haste; approaching thePoint from the northward was a muffled track, partially obliterated bythe snow which had since fallen, which, on reaching Murder Point, doubled back, returning northward whence the traveller had come. Itmeant to Granger that, while he and Strangeways had been seatedtogether recalling old times in the store, Spurling had come back. Forwhat reason? No man would fight his way through a blizzard withoutgood purpose; he would lie down where he was till the storm had spentitself, lest he should wander from his trail. This man had everythingto lose by turning back. Then he discovered that the snow was speckledwith dots of black, and, stooping down, discerned that they were dropsof blood. Some of the blood-marks were fresh; the tracks themselveshad been made, perhaps, within the last three hours. Spurling musthave met with an accident, and, returning to the Point for help, hadseen the stranger's dogs and sledge, and turning northwards again hadfled. So thought Granger. 

Strangeways, in the meanwhile, was examining the feet of his leader. Presently he stood erect, and asked in a low voice, "Did you dothat?"

"What?"

"Look for yourself. "

Granger looked, and saw that the balls of the leader's forefeet hadbeen gashed several times with a knife. 

"How should I have done it?" he replied. "I've been in your companyevery minute since you arrived. "

"Who did it, then?"

"You know as well as I. "

"And what do you think of a man who could do that?"

"That he was very desperate. "

"I should call him a Gadarene swine. "

Strangeways stood in angry thought for a few seconds; then he jerkedup his head, and asked, "Can you lend me another team of huskies? Becareful when you answer that you tell me the truth this time. "

Granger smiled at the childishness of such threatening. 

"You will gain nothing by speaking like that, " he said. "Unfortunatelyfor you, unlike Spurling, I am not afraid of death--I should welcomeit. Yet, while I live, I am curious; therefore I will promise you helpon one condition, that you tell me who has been murdered, and where. "

Strangeways lifted his eyes and surveyed Granger, asking himself, "Andis this statement also a lie?" But, when he spoke there were thebeginnings of a new respect in his voice. "So you are not afraid ofdeath?" he said. "Well, then, I owe you an apology for what I havecalled you, for I am; I am horribly afraid. I am afraid that I shalldie before I have avenged this death. "

"Tell me, who was it that was killed?" cried Granger, impatiently. "Was it a girl? There was a girl whom I loved in the Klondike; youdon't know how you make me suffer. "

"Don't I?" replied Strangeways, grimly; and then with affectedindifference, "There are a good many girls in the Klondike; the bodyof this one was found washed ashore near Forty-Mile. "

"What's her name?"

"That's what I'm here to find out. "

"Did Spurling know that she was a woman when he shot her?"

"So you know that also--that he shot her? Whether he knew, I don'tcare; the fact remains that she is dead and that he is suspected. "

"Only suspected?"

"Well, . . . "

"By God!" cried Granger, bringing down his fist in Strangeways' face, "but you shall tell me! Was her name Mordaunt, and was she hispartner, and did she wear a man's disguise?"

Strangeways turned his head and dodged aside so that the blow felllightly; drawing his revolver, he covered his opponent. Grangeradvanced close up, until the barrel of the revolver touched his face;then he halted and waited. 

Strangeways watched him; looked into his eyes amazed; then lowered hisweapon and laughed nervously. "Oh, " he said, "I remember, you are notafraid of death. "

"But I am of madness and suspense. "

Strangeways did not reply at once. Perhaps a sudden understanding haddawned on him, pity and a vision of what it meant to live through theeternal Now at Murder Point. He may have been asking himself, "For thelack of one small untruth, shall I thrust this man into Hell?" At anyrate, when he answered he spoke gently. "No, " he said, "she wore awoman's dress; be sure of it, your girl-friend is safe up there. "

Granger looked at him steadily, wondering why he should have lied;than he took his hand and pressed it in the English manner, "I believeyou, " he said. Yet, at the back of his mind a voice was persistentlyquestioning, "Do I believe him? But can I believe that?"

He was interrupted in his thoughts by Strangeways saying, "It's a pitythat that poor brute should suffer; he's certain to die. "

The corporal went near, levelled his revolver and shot the leaderbetween the eyes. The bullet did its work; the dog shivered, andtottered, rolled over on its side, tried to rise again, then stretcheditself out wearily as if for sleep at the end of a hard day's travel. 

"You can do that for a mere husky, " said Granger bitterly; "but yourefuse to do it for a man. "

"The husky had a harsh time of it in this world and has no otherlife. "

"If that's so, he's to be congratulated; but there was the more reasonwhy he should have been allowed to live his one life out. We wretchedmen are never done with life; if I were sure that there was only oneexistence and no reproaches in a future world, I could be brave to theend. It's this repetition of mortality, which men call immortality, that staggers my intellect, making me afraid--afraid lest there is nodeath. "

Strangeways shrugged his shoulders and scowled. He did not like thesubject--it caused him discomfort; there was so much left for him inlife. He planned, when he had captured Spurling and seen him safelyhanged, to buy himself out of the Mounted Police, return to England, and there live pleasantly at his club in London and as squire on hisestate. He would marry, he told himself; and though not the girl whomhe had most desired, for he believed her to be dead, yet, like asensible man, some other girl, who would be his friend, and bear hischildren, and make him happy. If once he could get out of Keewatin, having performed his duty honourably, he would do all that--whenSpurling had been captured alive or dead. 

Therefore he broke in on Granger roughly, inquiring, "Where are thosehuskies which you are going to lend me?"

"They are Spurling's huskies which he left behind when I lent himmine. "

"How long ago was that?--If they're Spurling's, they must be prettywell played out. "

"They are. They've rested for thirty hours more or less; but I don'tthink you'll manage to catch him up with them. "

"Perhaps not, but I'll try; he can't be more than three hours ahead. "

"Three hours with a fresh team is as good as three days. "

"You forget the difference between the two men. "

"No, I don't, for the one has the memory of his crime. "

"It's the memory of his crime that'll wear him out, and that samememory that'll give me strength. "

"Why? What makes you hate him so? Supposing he did kill a woman, itmay have been an accident. She may even have felt grateful for thebullet, as I should have done just now had you shot me dead. It'shorrible to kill anyone, but then the poor devil's fleeing for hislife and he's suffering a thousand times more pain than heinflicted. "

"Is he? Does he suffer the pain of the man who follows behind?Supposing a certain man had loved that woman and had lost her, and hadplanned all his life on the off-chance of meeting her again, dreamingof her day and night, and then had suddenly learnt that she wasbrutally dead by Spurling's hand on some God-forsaken Yukon River, where the ground was hard like iron so that no grave could be dug bythe murderer, and her body froze to marble and lay exposed all winterthrough the long dark days, with the bullet wound red in her forehead, and her grey face looking up toward the frosty sky, till the springcame and the water washed her body under and threw it up in a creeknear Forty-Mile, where a year later it was discovered mutilated anddefiled, do you think that her lover would be glad of that? Do youthink that he would pity the black-guard who could do such ascoundrelly deed as that?"

Strangeways was speaking wildly, his voice was trembling and his facewas haggard and lined; he was crying like a child. "The man who coulddo a deed like that, " he shouted, menacing the stars with his clenchedhand, "the man who could do a deed like that is so corrupt that evenGod would search for good in him in vain. It's the duty of every cleanman to hound him off the earth. While we allow him to live, we eachone share his taint. I'll pray God every day of my life that Spurlingmay be damned throughout the ages--eternally and pitilessly damned. "

When Granger could make his voice heard, "You don't mean that she wasMordaunt?" he cried. All this talk about a woman who had been lost andloved paralleled his own case--he took it as applied to himself. 

Strangeways recovered himself with an effort, "No, no, " he saidhuskily. "Mordaunt, you have told me, was a man. I was only supposingall that. "

"But Mordaunt was not a man, but a woman in man's clothing. "

Strangeways closed his lips tightly together, refusing to take notice, pretending that he had not heard. Granger spoke again. "Mordaunt wasnot a man, " he said. 

"In that case, " answered Strangeways, "you know what the man sufferswho is following behind. I will tell you no more than that. "

"You've told me enough and I will help you; only pledge me once moreon your sacred word that this body was found in a woman's dress. "

Strangeways hesitated; then his eyes caught again the bleakness of theland and his imagination pictured the awful loneliness of life upthere. Looking full on Granger he said, "On my most sacred word as abrother-gentleman, the body that was found was clothed in a woman'sdress. "

"Then, thank God, she was not Mordaunt!" said Granger; "but because heknew her to be a woman at the time when he killed her, I will help younone the less. "

Having called together Spurling's huskies, they found them to be tooweak for travel, with the exception of the leader, therefore theyharnessed in the corporal's remaining four dogs, putting theyellow-faced stranger at their head. No sooner had they turned theirbacks and gone inside the store to bring out the necessary provisions, than the four old dogs, jealous of their new leader, hurled themselvesupon him, burying their fangs in his shaggy hair, intent on tearinghim to death--an old-timer husky can stand a good deal of that. Hestrained on the traces, exposing to them only his hindquarters, running well ahead, and keeping his throat safe. Not until the two menhad clubbed them nearly senseless did they subside into sullenquietness; and then only so long as they were watched. Once a back wasturned, the four hind dogs piled on to their leader and the fightrecommenced. 

"You won't go far with them, " said Granger. He did not notice the lookof reawakened suspicion which flickered in Strangeways' eyes. "Youwon't go far with them; the moment you camp and that yellow-facedbeast gets his chance, he'll chew your four dogs to pieces. That'swhat he's there for, it's my belief--he's playing Spurling's game. He'll take you fifty or a hundred miles from Murder Point, and thereleave you stranded. "

"What would you advise?" This was spoken in a quiet voice. 

"I would advise you to wait here till the summer has come, and then toproceed by water. "

"But on snow I can follow his trail, whereas travel by water leaves notraces. "

"What does that matter? Instead of following him, let him return toyou, as he did to-night. You've driven him up a blind alley on thisLast Chance River; he can only go to the blank wall of the Bay, andthen come back. "

"He can reach the House of the Crooked Creek. "

"And if he does, what of that? He'll be touching the blank wall then. They won't want him. The first question that they'll ask him will be, 'And what have you come here for?' If he can't give a satisfactoryaccount of himself, they'll place him under arrest. When you get newsof that, you can go up there and fetch him. "

"And if he doesn't get so far as that?"

"You can set out by canoe and drive him back, and back, till you cometo the Bay, and he can go no further. "

"He might hide, and I might pass him on the way--what then?"

"In that case he'd double back and come past Murder Point, trying toget out. "

"In the meanwhile I should be a hundred, two hundred miles to thenorthwards, travelling towards the Bay on my fool's errand, and whowould be here to capture him?"

"Why, I should. "

"Precisely. "

Granger started; the way in which that last word had been spoken hadmade Strangeways' meaning manifest. He blushed like a girl at theshame of it. "Surely you don't still distrust me? You don't think mesuch a sneak that, having got you out of the way, I'd let him slip byand out?"

"It looks like it. "

"But, man, don't you realise that our interests are the same?"

"Since when?"

"Since you told me of a woman who was done to death on a Yukon river, and lay unburied all winter till the thaw came, and her body waswashed down to a creek near Forty-Mile, where it lay through thesummer naked, gazed upon, uncovered, and defiled. "

"I fancy you knew all that when you helped Spurling to escape. "

"Yes, but I didn't know that it was a woman, and I didn't know hername. "

"And you don't know her name now. "

"I do; it was Jervis Mordaunt who wore a man's disguise. "

"I told you that she wore a woman's dress. "

"I know. I know. "

"Then do you mean to tell me that I lied?"

"Perhaps, but not to accuse you. You said it out of kindness, and thatwas partly true which you said. You meant that the body was naked whenit was found. "

"If you dare to speak of her like that again, I'll choke you, and runthe risk of getting hanged myself. The land has debased you, as theYukon debased your friend. I can read you; you're still half-minded toplay his game, and that's why you want to turn me back. "

"Yes, I want to turn you back. Spurling's a hard-pressed man and he'sdangerous. You can judge of what he is capable by what has justhappened. He's cunning and, in his way, he's brave; he wouldn'tscruple to take your life. Your best policy is to wait--either here orat God's Voice, as you think best. The ice will soon be unsafe totravel; already a mile from here, where the river flows rapidly roundfrom the south-west, the part on the inside bend is rotten. I had toguide Spurling round that. At first, before I saw you and knew who youwere, I was tempted not to warn you, to let you take your own chanceand go on by yourself, and, perhaps, get drowned; but now, after Ihave seen you and after what you have told me, I can't do that. "

"So you were tempted to let me drown myself, and now you arerepentant?"

Granger bowed his head. 

"Then I tell you that if the ice were as rotten as your soul orSpurling's, I would still follow him, though I had to follow him toHell. If I've got to die, I'll die game--and you shan't turn me back. "

Granger ran out after him, calling him to stay, offering to guide himround the danger spot in his trail. But suspicion and untruthfulnesshad done their work. Only once did he turn his head, when at the crackof the whip the yellow-faced leader leapt forward in his traces. Thenhe answered him and cried, "He killed the woman I loved, and he shallpay the price though I follow him to Hell. "

So far as is known, these were the last words which Strangeways eversaid. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE LAST OF STRANGEWAYS

Granger returned to his shack and, closing the door, sat down besidethe stove in his accustomed place. He commenced to fill his pipeslowly, stretching out his legs as if he were preparing for a longnight of late hours and thoughtfulness. But he could not rest, hiswhole sensitiveness was listening and alert; the muscles of his bodytwitched, as if rebuking him for the delay which he imposed on them. He was expecting to hear a cry; whose cry, and called forth by whatagony, he did not dare to surmise, only he must get there before itwas too late. Somewhere between his shack and the Forbidden River hemust get before the agony began. He rose up, and putting on his capoteand snowshoes hurriedly, went out following Strangeways' trail. He hadno time to realise the folly of his action--this leaving of his storeunguarded and setting forth without an outfit at a season of the yearwhen, perhaps, within a week the ice would break. He did not considerhow far he might have to follow before he could hope to come up withStrangeways; nor what Strangeways would think of and do with him if, turning on a sudden his head, he should see the man who had lied tohim coming swiftly up behind. He would probably shoot him; but Grangerin his frenzy to save Strangeways' life did not think of that. Hisbrain was throbbing with this one thought, that if he did not catchhim up before he reached the Forbidden River, he would have seen thelast of him alive which any man would ever see in this world, unlessthat man were Spurling. 

So now there were three men spread out across the ice, two of whomfollowed in the other's steps. The first man was racing to preservehis own life, the second was pursuing to take it, and the third wasfollowing with all his strength that he might save the pursuer's lifefrom danger. Of these three the last man alone had no fear of death. The other two were so eager to live, and one of them took such delightin life! Yet, Strangeways was rushing to his destruction as fast asthat evil yellow-faced beast, tugging at the traces with might andmain, could take him--to where beneath the ice, or in some forestambush, lay crouched the hidden death. And if he should die, whosefault would that be? Granger was man enough to answer, "The faultwould be mine. I told him untruth till he could not believe me when Ispoke the truth which would save his life. "

Now that he was left solitary again, he resumed that old habit oflonely men of arguing with himself. Between each hurrying stride, hepanted out within his brain his unspoken words, his thoughts gaspingone behind the other as if his very mind was out of breath. Why hadSpurling come back? Why hadn't he killed all ten huskies outright, andso prevented Strangeways from pursuing farther until the break-up ofthe ice? He would have gained a month by that. His deed bore about itsigns of the ineffectual cunning of the maniac; it had been only worththe doing if carried out bitterly to the end. Yet Spurling had notgone mad; he was too careful of his life and future happiness topermit himself to do that. Then he must have done it for a threat, hoping by the daring and grim humour of his brutality to strike terrorinto Strangeways and warn him back. Perhaps this was only one of manysuch experiences which had occurred all along the trail from Selkirk, and the pursuer had recognised both the motive and the challenge. Well, if you're compelled to play the game of life-taking, you may aswell keep your temper, and set about it sportsmanly with a jest. Evenin this horrid revelation of character there was some of the oldSpurling left. 

Then his thoughts turned to Strangeways. He wondered, had he lied ortold the truth when he asserted that the body was not Mordaunt's whichwas found at Forty-Mile? He hoped for the best, but he doubted. Hismanner had been against it, and so had Spurling's; they had both beenkeeping something back. Perhaps he had lied out of jealousy, becausehe could not endure to think that this girl, for whom he had beensearching, who now was dead, had been loved by another man--and not aworthy man either, but one whom he despised. 

(Granger knew that he also would have felt like that. The mere denialof such a fact would have seemed somehow to reserve her more entirelyfor himself. )

He had not been able to bear the thought that, now that she was beyondreach of all men's search, her memory should be shared with him byanother man with an equal quality of affection--it had seemed to himlike her hand stretched out from the grave to strip him of the fewmementoes of her which he had. For these reasons he might even havelied truthfully, being self-persuaded that this Jervis Mordaunt was adifferent girl. 

Granger heartily hoped that his suspicions might be mistaken, but. . . Whatever happened he must come up with him, and ask him thatquestion once again. Maybe last time he had not spoken plainly;Strangeways had not grasped what he meant. He could not remember howhis question had been phrased, but this time it should be worded withsuch brutal frankness that there could be no chance of error. He wouldlay hold of him strongly, and clasp him about the knees so that hecould not escape. He would never release his hold till his doubts hadbeen set at rest. He would say to him quite clearly, "I loved a girlin the Klondike who called herself Jervis Mordaunt; she passed for aman, and was clothed in a Yukon placer-miner's dress. She did not knowthat I loved her; so you need not grieve if this murdered girl whomyou loved, and the one whom I call Mordaunt, were one and the same. Ifled from the Shallows where we worked together, partly in order thatshe might not know that. Now will you tell me, once and for all, wasthis girl, whom Spurling murdered, called Mordaunt? If you love God, tell me the truth and speak out. I can bear the truth, but I cannotendure this suspense. "

With the careful precision of a mind uncertain of its own sanity, herepeated and re-balanced his phrases, distrusting his own exactness, fearful lest he had not chosen such words as would make his meaningplain. Ah, but by his gestures, if language failed him, he would causehim to understand. For such news, even though it should be bad news, he would pledge his honour to help Strangeways in his search forSpurling. He would even volunteer to go single-handed and capture himhimself--bring him down to Murder Point by guile, where Strangewayswould be waiting to take him. The best and worst which he himselfcould derive from such a promise would be only that he should meetwith death--but he should have thought of that offer earlier, and madeit while Strangeways was with him. 

At that word _death_ the purpose of his present errand flared vividlyin his mind, and he hurried his pace. 

Looking back across his shoulder through the darkness, for the moonwas under cloud, he could just make out where his store pinnacled themound at the Point; he had left the door open in the haste of hisdeparture and, over the threshold slantwise across the snow, the firefrom the stove threw an angry glare. It was only a mile from the Pointto the bend, yet he seemed to have been journeying for hours. Thesurface of the river was difficult to travel because the snow whichhad fallen was wet; it shrank away from the feet at every stride. Forthis season of the year in Keewatin the night was mild; there was adamp rawness, but scarcely any frost in the air. If the ice had beenrotten in the morning at the bend, it would be doubly treacherous now. Ah, but he had warned Strangeways! Surely he would be sufficientlycautious to half-believe him at least in that. When he came to wherethe river turned northwards, he would forsake the short-cut of the oldtrail and swing out into the middle stream, or work safely round alongthe bank. If he couldn't scent danger for himself, his huskies wouldchoose their own path and save him, unless--unless, feeling thesmoothness of the old trail beneath the snow, they should lazilychoose that, or unless that leader of Spurling's should wilfully leadthem astray; but surely the four hind-dogs would have sense not tofollow him, and would hang back. 

He kept his eyes on the darkness before him, but to the northeast allwas shadowy; he could discern nothing. Yes, there was something movingover there. He judged that he had already traversed three-quarters ofthat interminable mile; surely he would be able to catch up with himnow. The recent blizzard had wiped out the old trail, but he couldstill feel it firm beneath the snow; he was following in Strangeways'tracks--Strangeways' which had been Spurling's. Then he came to apoint where the staler tracks, which were Spurling's, had branched outinto mid-stream to round the bend; but he saw to his horror thatStrangeways' had kept on to the left by the winter trail, toward thespot of which he had warned him--he had even suspected that that finalwarning was a trap. 

Ah, there he was straight ahead of him; he could see him distinctlynow. The moon, rising clear of cloud, made his figure plain. He calledto him, and it seemed that he half-turned his head. He was keepingperilously near in to the bend. He called to him again, and signed tohim with his arms to drive out. Then once more a cloud passed beforethe moon, making the land seem dead. 

He advanced cautiously, moving slowly, testing the strength of the iceat each fresh step before trusting it with his weight. Underneath hecould hear the lapping of the current as it rushed rapidly round thebend, and could feel the trembling of the crust beneath his feet, as aman does the vibration of an Atlantic liner when the engines areworking at full pressure, and every plank and bolt begins to shake andspeak. When he had come to where Strangeways had been standing, hestood still and listened. He could hear no sound of travel, nocursing a man's voice, urging his dogs forward, or cracking of a whip. Then he felt the ice sagging from under him, and the cold touch ofwater creeping round his moccasins. From a rift in the cloud, asegment of the moon looked out. Before and behind him lay the frozenexpanse of river, with its piled-up banks on either hand, and itsheavy blanketing of snow, smooth and level, making its passage seemsafe. Far over to the right stretched the trail of Spurling, showingugly and black against the white, where his steps and the steps of hisdogs had punctured the surface. Just before him, three yards distant, the ice had broken open, leaving a gaping hole over whose jagged edgesthe water climbed, and whimpered, and fell back, like a fretful childin its cot, which has wakened too early and is trying to clamber out. 

As Granger watched, heedless of his own safety, a hand pushed outabove the current, the hooked fingers of which searched gropingly forsomething to which they might make fast. Granger, throwing himselfflat in the snow, so as to distribute his weight, crawled towards it. The hand rose higher, and then the arm, followed at last by the headand eyes of Strangeways, but not the mouth. He had caught hold of apoint of ice and was trying to pull himself up by that; but something(was it the swiftness of the current?) was dragging his body away fromunder him so that the water was still above his nose and mouth. Granger wormed his way to within arm-stretch and clasped his hand; butthe moment he commenced to pull, the weight became terrific--more thanthe weight of one man--and he himself began to slide slowly forwardtill his head and shoulders were above the water. Something wastugging at Strangeways from below the river, so that his body jerkedand quivered like a fisherman's line when a well-hooked salmon isendeavouring to make a rush at the other end. 

Granger was leaning far out now, the surface was curving from underhim and his chest had left the ice. Then he realised what hadhappened: the loaded sledge had sunk to the bottom of the river-bed, and was holding down the four rear-dogs by their traces; but theleader, by struggling, had fought his way to within a few inches ofthe outer air, and, clinging on to Strangeways' throat and breast, wasfiercely striving to climb up him with his teeth to where breathingmight be found, in somewhat the same manner as Archbishop Salviati didin Florence to Francesco Pazzi, when the Gonfalonier hurled them bothout of the Palazzo window, each with a rope about his neck. 

(Strange what men will think of at a crisis! Granger was grimlyamused, and half-disgusted with himself. How absurd that of all thingsat such a time he should have remembered that!)

The weight of the four rear-dogs and the loaded sledge were graduallydragging the leader down, and, with him, Strangeways. He held ondesperately; now and then, as he made a fresh effort, his yellow snoutwould appear above the water or the top of his yellow head--except forthat, he might not have been there. But Granger was intent onStrangeways; staring into his eyes, which were distant the length ofhis arm out-stretched, he was appalled at the consternation theyreflected, and the evident terror of the end. If he could only get athis knife, he might be able to effect something; but his knife wasbeneath his capote, in his belt, and both his hands were occupied, the one with supporting the drowning man, the other with preventinghimself from slipping further. 

He wanted to speak to Strangeways, but he could not think of any wordswhich were not so trivial as to sound blasphemous on such an occasion. The man was growing weaker and heavier to hold; his eyes were losingtheir vision, and the water rose in bubbles from his mouth. There wasonly one last chance, that if he could support him long enough for thehusky at his throat to release his grip and die first, he might beable to drag him out. 

Though all this had been the work of only a few seconds, his arm wasbecoming numb and intolerably painful. Whatever it might cost him, hepromised himself that he would not let go till hope was at an end. Hewas slipping forward again; he would soon overbalance. But what didthat matter to one who did not fear death? After all, an honourableout-going is the best El Dorado which any man can hope to find asreward for his long life's search. If he were to die for and withStrangeways, he would at least prove to him that he was not entirelyworthless. 

Then, before it was too late, he found his words. "Be brave, " heshouted hoarsely, "be brave! It is only death. "

It would have seemed a preposterous supposition yesterday that theprivate trader at Murder Point should ever be in a position to bid theveriest scum among cowards to be brave. As he spoke, the intelligencecame back to Strangeways' eyes, the fear went out from them and thefeatures, losing their agony, straightened into an expression whichwas almost grave. His hand became small in Granger's palm, as thoughit were offering to slip away. 

Some deep instinct stirred in Granger; he suddenly loved this man forthe self-denial which that act betrayed. If there was to be a denialof self, however, he was emphatic that his should be the sacrifice. Was it this thought of sacrifice which brought religion to hismind--some haunting, quick remembrance of those wise words about"dying for one's friend"?

Quite irrationally and without connection with anything which hadpreviously occurred, leaning yet further out at his own immediateperil, shifting his grip to Strangeways' wrist that he might hold himmore firmly, he whispered, "Jesus of Galilee! Jesus Christ!"

The face of the drowning man took on an awful serenity, a look ofholiness, as if at sight of something which stood behind Granger, which he had only just discerned. He even smiled. Suddenly, with thedetermination of one who had concluded and conquered an oldtemptation, he wrenched away his hand. Granger made one last effort toreach him, but the tugging of the beast below the surface, or its deadweight, had drifted him out of arm-stretch. He sank lower. The waterrose, almost leisurely it seemed as if now certain of the one thing ithad desired, higher and higher up his face till it had reached hiseyes, quenched them, and nothing was left but a few bubbles whichfloated to the surface and broke, sparkling in the moonlight. Grangerdid not stir; as he had been paralysed, he lay there rigid with theblack waters washing about his face and hands. Then very slowly, asthough reluctant not to die, he drew himself back. When he had reachedsafety, rising up, he gazed around; the land looked more desolatethan ever. The first words which he said were spoken sacredly, withbated breath. "And that man told me, " he muttered, "that he was afraidof death. . . . To prefer to die at such a time, rather than risk mylife, was the act of a man who was very brave. " And next he said, "Iwonder what were his last words when he crashed through the ice? Iexpect he said, 'Damn. ' Well, that was as good as any other word tosay; after all, all swearing, taken in a certain sense, is a form ofprayer--a bluff assertion of belief in the divine. "

Granger turned slowly about, and commenced to make his way back to thePoint. At first he spoke aloud to himself as a thought occurred. "Idistrusted that yellow beast of Spurling's from the first. " "Now atany rate Spurling is safe. " "I haven't yet discovered whether Mordauntis dead, "--and so on. Then he ceased to speak with his lips, and histhoughts were uttered in the silence of his brain. They had all to dowith Strangeways. 

He wondered what vision had been his, causing him to smile as he sank. Did he think of that girl, and that he was going to meet her? Or ofthe old home in England? Or of his school-days? Or was it the Thameshe thought about--of Oxford with its many towers, and the cry of thecoach along the tow-path as the eight swings homeward up-stream, inthe grey of a winter afternoon, to the regular click of the rowlocksas the men pluck their blades from the water, feather and come forwardfor the next stroke, making ready to drive back their slides as oneman with their legs? He was certain that whatever happened, andhowever he should go out of life, did God spare him a moment'sconsciousness, it would be the vision of Oxford with its domes andspires, its austere and romantic quiet, its echoing cloisters andpassages, its rivers with their sedges of silver and of grey, whichwould float before his dying eyes, --or would he think of Christ? HadChrist been the vision which this man had seen?

Strange thoughts for Keewatin! But death is always strange. 

CHAPTER IX

THE BREAK-UP OF THE ICE

Nearly a month had gone by since the night on which Strangeways died. Not that time mattered much to Granger, for, like the immortals, menin Keewatin have dispensed with time: they have accepted as true thelesson which philosophers have been striving to teach the world eversince the human intellect first commenced to philosophise--that thereare no such ontological facts as Time and Space. Among the men of thisvast northern territory the outward expression of religion is rare;they do not often speak, and then only of such interests as aresuperficial to their lives. Yet here, in their fine neglect of the twosternest of self-imposed, human limitations, the religious instinct ismanifest. As it would be sacrilege to count God's breaths, were thatpossible, so to them it seems a kind of blasphemy to number therecurrence of their own small perceptions when the Divine Perceivedseems so entirely unconscious of their very existence. Hence ithappens that one does not often hear a traveller speak of havingjourneyed so many days or miles; his division is more casual, andembraces only his own immediate actions--he has travelled so many"sleeps, " nothing more. 

As a rule, Indians are utterly deficient in the time-sense and cangive no intelligent account of their age. Their calendar is enshrined, if they have one, in symbols which they use as decorations, paintedon the inside of their finest skins. They make their reckoning of theyears from some event which was once important to themselves, or totheir tribe. Thus, stars falling from the top to the bottom of a roberepresent the year of 1833, and an etching of an Indian with a brokenleg and a horn on his head stands for the year in which Hay-waujina, One Horn, had his leg "killed. " Back of that which is comparativelyimmediate to their own experience, they have ceased to count or to beinquisitive. 

 "Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream. "

So with both the joys and sorrows of these Northland men; hurry is notnecessary where time is unrecognised, and turbulence of emotion, whether of grief or gladness, is felt to be out of place in a_dream-being_, whose sole reality is its unreality. Their personalunimportance to the Universe, and remoteness from the Market-place ofLife allow them to dawdle. Their experiences have no sharp edges, noabrupt precipices, no divisive gulfs, no defined beginnings andendings. The book of their sojourn in this world has neither chaptersnor headings; the page runs on without hindrance from tragedy tocomedy, comedy to farce, farce to melodrama, and thence to tragedyagain--always it returns to tragedy. They stride round the Circle ofthe Emotions without halting, merging from joy into sorrow withoutpreface, till one day the feet grow wearier and lag, the eyes growclear and, almost without knowing it, as did Strangeways, their dreamgoing from them, they awake--motionlessly pass out of life, and enterinto _What_?

If smoothness of passage and apparent endlessness be the two mainqualities of the divine existence, then the lives of men in Keewatinare both divine and real; only we, of the outside world, would callthis same smoothness dulness, and its endlessness its most torturingagony. 

The past month had dragged by with Granger as would a century withnormal men, except that in the entire span of those hundred yearsthere had been no summer. In them he had lived through and rememberedevery emotion which had ever come to him. His brain was confused withremembering, fevered with anguish of regret for things lost, whichwould never come again. He had nearly succumbed to that most unmanlyof all spiritual assailants, the coward of Self-Pity--would havesuccumbed, had not Self-Scorn rendered him aid. 

From sunrise to sunset the winter had slowly thawed: the trees haduncovered their greens and browns, thrusting themselves forth frombeneath the rain-washed greyness of the melting snow; the river, reluctantly at first, had cracked and swayed, and become engraved byminiature streams which ate their way, as acid on metal, across itssurface. Strange messages those narrow streams of water wrote; strangethey seemed at least to Granger as he watched them day by day. Sometimes they seemed to be writing words, and sometimes drawingfaces. The words he could not always decipher; when he did they weremostly proper names, STRANGEWAYS, SPURLING, MORDAUNT, EL DORADO. Thefaces were more easy to recognise, and three of them corresponded tothe first three names. There was one morning when he awoke, havingdreamed of the horrible revenge which he would take, and going to thewindow was appalled to see a new face scrawled upon the ice--his own, yet not his own; the evil likeness to the self which had come to himin the Klondike. He was puzzled, and set to work to discover thereason for these signs. Then a verse which he had once learnt as achild came back to him, "Jesus stooped down and wrote with his fingeron the ground, _as though he heard them not_. And _they which heardit_, being convicted by _their own_ conscience, went out one by one, beginning at the eldest, even unto the last; and Jesus was left alone, _and the woman_. "

So he knew that it was God's hand which had etched that warninglikeness overnight, which his own conscience had discerned, accusinghim. Also, in gazing upon that drawing he heard a voice, which was hisown voice, used as a medium for another mind, saying, "Now that thouhast seen what thou art like, go out, that I may be left alone _andSpurling_. " So Granger had agreed with God that day that he wouldcease from his dreams of human vengeance, and leave Him alone withSpurling. He did not dare to tell God all his thoughts, but he feltcertain that, had Spurling's opinions been consulted, he would havepreferred to be left alone with John Granger. It was terrible enoughto have to dwell between God's footsteps, as all men must who live inKeewatin, when His eyes were averted, and He Himself walked byseemingly unconscious of your presence; but to have to live there whenHe had noticed your presence, and His face was lifted up, while Hisgaze was bent upon you, with no hope of escape, a fugitive from humanjustice, alone in an empty land with your own conscience and Him asyour accuser, that was to protract the shamefaced confusion of theLast Judgment through every day of your life. Granger felt that inmaking that compact he had done his worst by Druce Spurling. 

In the middle hours of the night which followed this agreement, whichhe chose to think of as his compromise with Deity, he was awakened bya thunderous sound, and jumping from his bunk saw that the river hadbroken up and the ice was going out, as though God, having finishedHis argument which He had written there, were rubbing out His words. Flinging wide the door, he ran down the mound to the bank, shoutinglike a boy. As he went he had a panoramic vision of all the other men, both white and red, along the six hundred miles of river whichstretched from the great lake to the Hudson Bay, who had been awakenedas he had been, and now, or sometime that night, would be doing whathe was doing, rushing half-clad beneath the stars down to theriver-bank calling on the loneliness to rejoice--the loneliness, whichthroughout the frozen months had listened so faithfully to all thatthey had had to say, blasphemous or otherwise, and had made no reply. But this night both silence and loneliness were violated, and criedaloud with rage protestingly; whereat the river only clapped its handsand squeezed its passage, and huddled between its ruinedwinter-barriers ever northward to the freedom of the Bay. 

This was the one night in all the year when revolt was permitted, andthe Bastile of Keewatin fell. Fell! Yes, soon the summer would raiseit up again in a newer form, only a little less intolerable; andafterwards the winter, that master-builder, would return as a kingfrom his exile. But no one thought of such catastrophe to-night. Forthe moment it seemed that the reign of tyranny was ended and themillennium had begun--chaos, which men mistake for millennium. 

Granger stood above the bank repeating to himself over and over, "Theice is going out! The ice is going out!" as if it were a factincredible. Every moment the air vibrated with a roar, and the earthwas shaken as some new horseman of the ice was overthrown and hurriedby in flight, only to halt presently, ranged side by side with some ofhis fellows, to make yet another stand. Certainly it was a battlewhich was being fought, and one which must be lost. 

As far as sound could travel, from the west and from the north, hecould hear the cannonade, and what seemed like the clatter of hoofs, and the clash of thrown-away swords. It was possible to imagineanything when Nature was making a change so titanic. Now the water wasthe black horse of Revelation, with a sable rider on his back whocarried "a balance in his hand, "--and he was in pursuit. And the icewas the pale horse, and he that sat upon him, his name was Death, andHades followed with him, --and he was in flight. And now, when somegreat floe jammed in its passage round the Point, and the ice piledup, it became for Granger a magician's silver palace in Aragon, whicha dark-mailed knight of Christendom had travelled leagues to demolish. Outside it shone resplendent and crystal in the starlight; but withinit was full of uncleanness, and by day it would vanish. 

He amused himself with these fancies, and followed them to theirfurthest length. He could see the faces of the beleaguered, now evilwith terror, peering out from the casements, and the stern oldenchanter in the turret, over whose ledges flowed down his snow-whitebeard. He could hear the hoarse-throated clamour of the knight as heled his company about the walls, and rammed in the castle's gateway, shouting, "For Christ! For Christ!" The structure trembled and theturret commenced to wave in the air, as it had been a banner. Thesorcerer looked out, his eyes were filled with dismay--he could notwithstand that name of 'Christ'; he plunged from the height, spreadingabroad his arms, and was lost in the blackness of the underground. Thedark host swept over the palace still shouting, "For Christ! ForChrist!" In the twinkling of an eye, both the evil one and theavenging host were gone--all was resolved into turbid water andsubmerged, groaning ice. 

So he watched the break-up of the ice, and the travelling of the riverwhich, slipping by at his feet, going forth to wander the world, lefthim stationary. Perhaps some drops of this Last Chance River wouldsome day be washed up in a wave on the tropic shores of Ceylon, or, having spent a winter in the Arctic, would be carried down in a bergand, having melted, flow on round Cape Horn to the Pacific till theycame to Polynesia, where they would be parted by the swimming hands ofdusky, slender girls. He grew jealous at the thought, and bending downbaled out some of the water in his palms, and threw it on the ground, saying angrily, "You at least shall stay. " Then he laughed at hisfolly and was comforted by thinking, "When my body is dead, it alsowill journey forth. I must be patient like the river, and wait. InGod's good time I also shall wander round the world. "

"But shall I know? Shall I be conscious of that?" the spirit ofdiscontent inquired. 

Granger shook his head irritably, as if by so doing he could throw offthese troublesome imaginations. Since the death of Strangeways, he hadnot recovered his poise of soul. Ah, and Strangeways! Was Strangewaysconscious of his body's release, and the permission which death hadgiven him to wander forth? How odd to think that that body, which hadbeen born of a woman in England and tended by her hands, which hadstrolled through English lanes and over Oxford meadows, gesticulatingand talking, doing good and evil, which even in its life had broughtthe man who inhabited it so many miles from home, now that the soulhad departed from it, should be hurrying away alone to hide itself inArctic fastnesses! Did Strangeways know that? Was he conscious of thisnew adventure? Well, if God was so anxious to take care of Spurling, He could be trusted to look after Strangeways--if anything of himsurvived. 

The melting of the ice had chilled the air. The coldness of his yetliving body awoke him to a realisation of the petty suffering of thatsmall part of his universe which was explored and known. Taking onelast look at the ruin which the one night's thaw had worked, thepinnacles, and beauty, and whiteness which it had destroyed, "Courage!" he said, "for this is life. "

CHAPTER X

A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD

The sun was shining down; the spring rains had ceased; within lessthan a month winter had vanished, and summer had swept throughKeewatin with a burst of gladness. The land was riotously green;through the heart of it wandered the river, newly released, a streakof azure, or of gilded splendour where smitten by the sun. Althoughits waters were running freely, many memories of the frozen quietstill remained in the shape of ice piled up along its banks, sometimesto the height of fifteen feet, and of snow in the more shady hollowsof the forest, which glimmered distantly between leaves and brancheshinting at secret woodland lakes. Even the most backward among thetrees had commenced to unfold their buds. All day long, and throughthe major portion of the night, the frogs continued to whistle in themarshes and along the river's edges. Flock after flock of duckarrived, flashing their wings against the sky, dropping from under acloud suddenly, and coming to rest in the water with a shower ofspray, where they rode at ease side by side, like painted, anchoredmerchantmen returned in safety from the earth's end. Now the wildswan, teal, or goose would go by with a whirr of wings, cryinghoarsely. To make the world seem yet more wide an occasional gullwould heave in sight, drifting without effort in silent flightmajestically. In the forest Granger was conscious of a commotion atthe cause of which he could only guess. Love was at work in theshadows, or what among the dumb creation passes for love. There was acontinual stirring of leaves, the rustle of branches forced aside, thescattering of birds, those spies and betrayers of the four-footedanimal, and the grievous low wail of the wolf. Sometimes a fish wouldleap in the river, flash silvery and dripping in the sunlight, on itsbridal journey from the ocean. Was it an act of gallantry, hewondered, which some deep-sea female witnessed from beneath the rippleof the stream, or was it a terrified effort to escape from love. Heknew what that best of all passions could mean to the forest animal, and how cruel it might become. Often in the fall of the year he hadwatched a doe, seen her dash down the river bank, stand quivering, leap in and swim, made fearless of man because she knew that herlover, the stag, was not far behind. 

This frenzy of passion set him thinking, and made him long for thereturn of Peggy Ericsen. He knew that his love for her was not of thehighest, was little more than physical, not much nobler than forestlove; but what was a man to do, and how guide his conduct when all theworld was a-mating? On occasions he had a clearer vision, and realisedwith a sense of sudden shame to how low a level he had sunk. Then hewould strive to throw off this attraction for a half-breed girl byrecalling the faces of all the other women whom he had admired andloved. Yet this also was dangerous, for it caused him to rememberMordaunt, thoughts of whom roused up anger within him againstSpurling. He had agreed to leave him to God, and could not go back onhis word; therefore he must forget Mordaunt and, if his mind must behaunted by womankind, think only of Peggy. Peggy! Well, she was not abad little sort. Pretty? Yes. But between her and himself there couldbe no community of mind. He knew that for hundreds of years it hadbeen the custom of traders and white trappers to take to themselves asquaw from a tribe of friendly Indians, sometimes for the sake ofcommercial advantages, sometimes for defence, sometimes for domesticconvenience, rarely for love. But there his education, which wouldhave served him well in an older land, stood in his way, as it had sooften done, making him over-delicate. 

He could find it in his heart to wish himself more ignorant and lessrefined. That glamour of intellectual gentility, which England setssuch store by, had made him unfit for the outdoor brutalities ofnorthern life. In his catastrophe he knew that he was not single, though there was small consolation in that; all through Canada he hadencountered younger sons, drawing-room bred young gentlemen, whoworked in lumber camps, on railroads, and in mines by day, and speltout their Horace from ragged texts by brushwood fires, beneath thestars, or in verminous shacks by night. Their power to construe a deadlanguage served to differentiate them from their associates, and, rather foolishly if heroically, to bolster up their pride. 

But, to return to Peggy, what a pity it was that she had insisted onthe marriage ceremony! Yet, he respected her for that. _But_, andthere was always a but in Granger's reasonings, suppose he should gethis chance to return to England one day! And this would certainlyhappen to him on his mother's death. And suppose, when he hadtethered himself to this half-breed wife, he should get word thatMordaunt was still alive! Granger was always at a loss when the momentfor decision presented itself; he was too moderate, too far-sightedand philosophic to act immediately. It takes an abrupt, coarse-grainedman, or a prophet, to handle a crisis efficiently; your man who isonly endowed just beyond the average sees too far--and not far enough. The insolent infringement of personality which he had suffered as manand child from his mother's unwise interference had caused him tobecome a chronic hesitator. As usual, in this case as in all others, he determined to let matters slide, to give circumstance an unfetteredopportunity to evolve its own event. He was content to remain thespectator of his own career, allowing Chance to be the only doer ofthe deeds which went to make up the record of his life. And what wouldChance do next? The Man with the Dead Soul might return at any hourfrom his winter's hunt, bringing with him his daughter, in which casemost surely his book of life would commence to write out its latestchapter of disgrace. 

Beorn had cached a canoe at the mouth of the Forbidden River, andtherefore would reach the Point up-stream from the northward. Grangerfound excitement in the thought that any minute, looking out from hiswindow, he might discover the approach of his future wife. The more heallowed his fancy to dwell upon her, the more pleasant her imagebecame for him. After all, there is always something of romance, atfirst at any rate, in marrying out of your blood heritage. Pizarromust have felt that when he took to himself Inez Huayllas Nusta, theInca princess. The havoc of affection which was being enactedsecretly beneath the shadow of the forest trees urged him on, crying, "Take your pleasure while it is yours, winter will return. Short viewsof life are best. " Having listened to that advice for several days, heallowed himself to be persuaded. It seemed to him, when he rememberedhow they had parted, that it would be a gallant and reconciling act toset forth to meet her. Moreover, though the mind that was in him stoodaside from the project in disdain, the body cried, "Forward! Forward!"in chorus with the song of the wild-wood. 

Early one morning he carried down his canoe to the water's edge, loaded it with a week's provisions, padlocked his store and set out. As the prow drove forward down-stream, exultation entered into him. Hewas playing at saying good-bye to his long exile; miles ahead lay theHudson Bay, and beyond that England. If his boat were not so frail andhis arms were stronger, by pressing on and onward he could escape. These were scarcely the thoughts with which a man should set out tomeet his bride. Desires to meet and avoid her alternated even now, when with each fresh thrust of the paddle he approached her nearerpresence. Yet, even to his way of thinking, there was something epicin the situation--that this girl of an alien tradition and a savagerace, with her copper skin, and blue-black hair, and timid eyes, should be threading her passage up her native river, through the earlysummer, toward her western lover who was hastening down the self-sameprimeval highroad to meet her. Oh, he would be very happy with Peggy!Thus imagining himself on through the labyrinth of passionate fancy, he floated down stream, shrouded in the morning mist. He had to goslowly, for he could not see far ahead, and travel by water was stilltreacherous by reason of belated floes of ice. Over to the eastwardthe sun winked down on him with a dissipated bloodshot eye, knowingly, with the cruel misanthropic humour of a tired man of the world who, regarding idealism as a jest, had guessed at the purpose of his errandand was eager to declare his own shrewd cleverness. 

And if the sun is a cynic, who can blame him? He alone of createdthings has an intimate knowledge of all live things' love affairs, from when Eve shook back her hair and lifted up her lips, to the lastgirl kissed in Japan. The canoe drifting out of a scarf of mistbrought Granger in sight of the bend, where Strangeways had beendrowned. He plunged his paddle deeper in the water, thrusting itforward to stay the progress of the prow, and glanced from side toside, then straight ahead. He had caught the smell of burning. On thenorthern side of the bend, curling above the trees, he could detectthe rise of smoke. Someone had lit a fire and was camping there. Butwho? Was it Beorn and Peggy? No, they would not camp so near theirdestination; they would have pushed on to the store for rest. Norcould it be men from the Crooked Creek coming up to God's Voice; theseason was as yet too early for them to be expected. Then, was itSpurling?

Paddling out into the middle stream, he stole beneath the fartherbank, and, rounding the bend, came in sight of two men, the one seatedupright before the fire cooking his bannocks, the other stretched outtwenty paces distant at the edge of the underbrush, completely coveredwith a robe, motionless as if he slept. The man who was awake lookedup, shaded his eyes, then rising to his feet came down to the water'sedge and waved his hand. 

Granger recognised in him his friend Père Antoine, the gaunt oldJesuit of Keewatin. No one could remember, not even the Indians, atwhat time he had first come into the district; he seemed to have beenthere always and was of a great age. Yet, despite his many years, hecould travel miracles of journeys in the name of Mary's son. It wassaid of him that he was always to be seen mounting the sky-line intimes of crisis and temptation; that he knew by instinct where menwere in spiritual peril, as the caribou scents water; that he hadoften broken out of the forest unexpectedly in time to prevent murder. There were Indians to be found who would circumstantially assert thatthey had met with Père Antoine, five hundred miles distant from thespot where he had last been seen, walking in the wilderness radiantly, wearing the countenance of Jesus Christ. 

Granger recalled these legends as he gazed toward the camp; he watchedthe figure of the sleeping man--and he thought of Spurling. Was thisSpurling? He tried to make out the man's identity by his figure'soutline, but the robes which were piled above him forbade that. Yetwithin himself he was sure that his guess was correct. What was morelikely than that Antoine should have met the fugitive wandering up theForbidden River, perhaps sick and starving, should have taken hisconfession and compassionately have brought him back? Probably it wasAntoine's purpose that they two should be reconciled. He might evenhave converted Spurling and have brought back God into his life, sothat now he was willing to return to Winnipeg to give himself up, andto take his chance of death. 

Having run his canoe aground between the bank-ice, he stepped out andgrasped the Jesuit's hand. 

"God has arrived before you this time, Père Antoine, " he said, jerkinghis head in the direction of the sleeping man; "he has already doneyour work. I have promised Him that I will do no harm to yourcompanion, so you have arrived too late. "

"If it was God who arrived, " he said, "I am content. "

He spoke significantly, hinting at a further knowledge of which hesupposed Granger to be possessed. 

"If it was not God, then who else?"

"Ah, who else?"

Granger, in common with most white men of the district, had falleninto the Indian superstition that Père Antoine was omniscient; it cameto him as a shock that he might be unaware of how God had written onthe ice. Usually in talking with the priest he took short-cuts in hismethods of communication, leaving many things understood butunmentioned, as a man is wont to do when conversing with himself. 

"There is no doubt that it was God, " he said; "He did not want me tomurder this man. He wished that I should leave him alone, to be judgedin the forest by Himself. Therefore, if you have brought him here withyou to make us friends, I will not do that; but I will promise you, asI have promised God, that I will not be his enemy. "

Antoine tapped him on the arm gently, looking him full in the facewith his grave, penetrating eyes: "And did not God Himself arrive toolate?" he asked. 

Granger flushed hotly, for he thought that he detected an under-toneof accusation in the way in which those words were uttered. "Tell me, is he dead?" he asked abruptly. 

"He is dead. "

"Is it . . . Is that his body over there?"

"You should know best. "

Involuntarily Granger sank his voice, now that he knew that thatsleeping man was dead. He pressed closer to the priest and commencedto whisper, now that he knew that no noise of his, however loud, coulddisturb the rest of this man who would never wake. Sometimes, when inthe hurry of his speech his voice had been by accident a littleraised, he would cease speaking, lift up his head, and peer furtivelyfrom side to side, then over to where the dead man lay, to makecertain that he had not stirred, --all this lest someone in that greatsilence should have heard what he had said. Thus does the presence ofthe dead accuse living men, as if by our mere retention of life we didthem injury. Wheresoever we encounter them, whether in the hired prideof the vulgar city hearse, or in the pitiful disarray of bleachedbones and tattered raiment strewn on a mountainside, they make eventhose of us who are remotest from blame feel guilty men. 

"But, Père Antoine, I did not kill him, " Granger was saying. "I wasgravely tempted, but God wrote upon the ice and stayed my hand. Thisman was once my friend, and is now again--now that he is dead. Let meuncover and look upon his face. "

But the priest withheld him. "Not yet--not yet, " he said. "Let usfirst talk together awhile, that I may hear what has happened, and getto understand. "

So there in the quiet of the early morning, with nothing to break thestillness save the crackling of the fire, and the flowing of theriver, and the occasional flight of a bird, Granger told the priestall his story, from his first dream of El Dorado to the thoughts ofescape and of Peggy Ericsen which he had had, as drifting down-stream, he had caught the smell of burning and come in sight of the bend. Itwas a true confession; nothing to his own discredit was left out. 

When he came to an end the mist had lifted, and the sun rode high inthe heavens disentangled of cloud. All the time that he had beenspeaking the priest had sat motionless, with his head bent forwardlistening, his knees drawn up and his arms about them. Now that thetale was over, he slowly turned his head; and then it was for thefirst time that Granger knew what the Indians meant when they saidthat they had met with Père Antoine in the wilderness, walkingradiantly, wearing the countenance of Jesus Christ. There was such abrightness about him that he could not bear his gaze, but tremblingwith a kind of fearful joy fell forward on his face, covering his eyeswith his hands. And still the priest said nothing, not trustinghimself to speak, perhaps, so great was his compassion. 

But it was not long before Granger was conscious of a hand, hard andhorny and ungentle, as far as outward circumstance could make it so, which rested on his head. At last he spoke. "I think I understand, " hesaid, and then, after a pause, "but you will never help yourself orthe world by merely being sad. No man ever has. "

When Granger answered nothing nor lifted up his head, he spoke again. "Does that seem a strange judgment to pass on you here in Keewatin?Does it sound too much like the speech of a city man? Nevertheless, itis because of your flight from sadness that you have met with all yourdangers. All your life you have spent in striving to escape fromthings which are sad. Why did you dream of El Dorado when you were inLondon? Because, as you yourself have told me, exquisiteness of dressdid not reassure you of another's happiness; you were alwaysremembering that a decent coat may sometimes cover cancer. You are oneof those who suffer more because of the sores of Lazarus than Lazarushimself. That is well and Christlike, if you suffer gladly--which youdo not. So you left London and travelled half across the world toYukon, only to find a greater wretchedness; for your misery growingvicious pursued you, and goaded you on to crime. Once more to escapeyou left Yukon and came to Winnipeg, and came up here, and still youare sad. Will I tell you why? Always, always you have depended onyourself for escape and rest. That is useless, for your sadness doesnot belong to any city, or any land; it is within yourself. Whereveryou have travelled you have carried it with you. You must look forhelp from outside yourself. "

Again he paused, but Granger did not stir. Then he repeated, speakingyet more gently, "I am an old man and have lived in Keewatin thelength of most men's lives, yet I have not always lived up here. I wasnot always happy, and I say to you, you must look for help fromoutside yourself. "

Then Granger answered him, keeping his head still bowed. 

"Where, where must I look for help?"

"Lift up your head. "

He obeyed, and the first sight he saw was the face of Père Antoinebent above him. Again he was struck with its likeness to thetraditional face of Christ--but the face was that of a Jesus who hadgrown grey in suffering and had been often crucified, who was veryancient and had not yet attained his death. Then he thought he knewwhat le Père had meant by saying that he must look for help fromoutside himself. He turned his eyes away and gazed into the sunshine, and on the greenness of the awakened country. Somehow it all lookedvery happy and changed from what it had been before they two had met. He vaguely wondered whether already he might not be now experiencingthat help. But, as had always happened to him after tasting of amomentary joy, in turning his head he found a new grief awaiting him, for there, twenty paces distant, stretched out at the edge of theunderbrush, covered with a robe, he caught sight of that recumbentfigure, lying motionless as if it slept. He shuddered, and seizing thepriest by the arm, speaking hoarsely with suppressed excitement, exclaimed, "Where did he come from? But where did you find him?"

"I found him stretched out on the bank-ice, awaiting me as I paddledup-stream toward the bend. "

"Then he was coming back. God must have met him down there on theForbidden River and have spoken with him face to face; he could notendure His voice, so he fled. Oh, to come back at such a season, whenthe river was in flood, he must have been terribly afraid. He musthave clambered his way up-stream, all those hundred miles, running bythe bank. Père Antoine, you know many things, what kind of words werethose, do you suppose, that God spoke to Spurling?"

"The kind of words which God always speaks to men; He told him thetruth about himself. "

"The truth about himself? There are few who could endure to hearthat. "

"Yes, He would accuse him with a question, I think. "

"What makes you say that?"

"Because that is the way in which God usually speaks to men. He askedAdam a question, and Adam hid himself; he asked Cain a question, andCain became a vagabond in the earth. "

They sat in silence awhile, and then Granger said, "And if God were tospeak to me, what question would He ask?"

"I think he would say, 'John Granger, by how much are you better thanSpurling, whom you condemn?'"

"You are right; yes, I think He would say that. Even I have askedmyself that question before to-day. "

"You did not ask yourself; it was God's voice. "

"And I could give no answer to what He said. Père Antoine, before wemet, I had often wondered what I would say to Spurling should we meetagain. I had planned all manner of kindly phrases to make him again myfriend; but I had thought of him as coming to me prosperous, with theapproval of the world. When he came to me in poverty, asking help, inperil of his life for a sin which had been almost mine, I turned himaway. He had chosen me out from among all men between Winnipeg and theKlondike, as the only one to whom he could safely go for help; and Iturned him away. I see it clearly now; God sent to me this man whom Ihad wished to murder, when he had performed my crime, that, byendangering my life for his, I might cleanse myself. When all men hadfailed him, he and God expected that I, at least, would understand. But for Mordaunt, I might have had to flee as he fled, changed by theraising of a gun and hasty pulling of a trigger into a Judas to allthat is best; I might have had to support within me his uttersolitariness and agony of mind, and have been compelled to see myselfas debased throughout and forever by a single, momentary act. How hemust have suffered! I shall fear to die now; till now I have beenafraid only of life. "

"Why will you fear to die?"

"Because I shall meet with Spurling, and then I shall hear God'squestion and His accusing voice. "

The priest laid a hand upon his shoulder gently. "Ah, my child, butyou forget, " he said; "in the country where Spurling has gone he willhave learnt how to understand. "

That thought was new to Granger, that of the two faults his own wasthe greater and that forgiveness belonged to Spurling. He satmotionless for a long time arguing it out; he wanted to be exactlyjust to both Spurling and himself. The fire died down and Père Antoinethrew on more brushwood; the sun grew tall in the heavens and a raincloud gathered in the west; the floe-ice caught in its passage roundthe bend, gasped and whined and, tearing itself free again, vanisheddown river out of sight. The arithmetic of the problem stood thus:Spurling's sin had been the result of a sudden violence, his own of aconscious and premeditated uncharitableness. Which sin was morally theworse, to shoot a fellow creature in a fit of passionate desperation, or to turn your back upon a bygone benefactor who comes to you indistress, comes to you when his heart is breaking, because he cantrust himself with no one else? "My sin is the greater, " Granger toldhimself, "I am more wrongful than wronged against"; his thoughts goingback to what le Père had said, he added, "I am Cain, and yet I judgedSpurling as if I had been God Himself. "

He was roused from his meditation by a dull thudding sound which hadcommenced behind his back; turning his head, he saw that Père Antoinewas already digging a grave. Rising without a word, he began to lend ahand. They had not gone far when they found that the ground was hardas granite, that it had not yet thawed out; then they commenced tolook for stones to pile upon the body so that, since the grave wouldbe shallow, they might raise a mound above it to prevent the wolvesfrom getting the body out. 

By the time they had completed their preparations the rain was fallingin large and heavy drops, and the storm was blowing in great guststhrough the forest, causing the young leaves to shudder and whispertogether, and to turn their backs to the wind. The priest and thetrader stood upright from their work and gazed at one another. Alreadythe narrow hole, which they had scooped out, was filling with water;there was no time to lose; yet neither seemed inclined to hurry. Atlast Père Antoine said, "So you are sure that you did not do it?"

"I cannot be sure of that. "

"Ah, but you did not do it in the way I mean? You did not kill himwith the strength of your hands?"

They went together to the edge of the underbrush where the dead man'sbody lay, and carried it, without disturbing the coverings, to theside of the grave; there they set it down. 

"I cannot bear that he should lie in that dampness, " Granger brokeout; "I remember when we were in London, how he used to hate the wet. Coldness he could put up with or the hottest sunshine, but he couldnot endure the damp. He said it made him feel as though the world wascrying, like a dreary woman because her youngest child was dead. Wecan't drop him into that puddle and leave him there. "

He commenced to strip off his clothes, and to fold them along thefloor of the grave. When he had apparently made all ready, he stoopeddown again and smoothed out a ruck, lest its discomfort should irk thedead. 

"Now, " he said, "let me see his face for the last time, for he was myfriend. "

Le Père bent down, and drew the coverings back to the waist, whileGranger leant over him in his eagerness. The body, having lain uponthe ice, had been well preserved, no feature had been disturbed; butit was not the body of a man who was newly dead, nor was it the faceof Spurling. So absorbed had Granger been by thoughts of the comradewhom he had treated harshly, and by the mysterious meaning of thewriting which he had seen upon the ice, that the likelier solution ofthe problem of this man's identity had not entered into his head, thatthe body might be that of Strangeways, thrown up by the back-rush ofthe current around the bend. 

"Strangeways, " he muttered, "it is Strangeways. " And with those wordshis charity towards Spurling began to ebb. 

Père Antoine, when he heard it, realising that these were the remainsof an officer of justice, for whom, when he did not return, searchwould be made, and not of an escaped murderer with a price upon hishead, at news of whose death Authority would be glad, went down on hishands and knees and began to examine the clothing of the dead forproofs of his identity, which could be sent in to headquarters for theestablishing of his death. He foresaw that there was need for care;when the matter came to be investigated, it would be discovered thatGranger had been Spurling's partner in the Klondike; questions wouldcertainly be asked of Robert Pilgrim, as Hudson Bay factor and headman of the district, concerning Granger's conduct in Keewatin, and nogood word could be looked for from that quarter. That which would tellmost heavily against him would be this fact, that two men, separatedby a few hours, were known to have passed God's Voice en route for theindependent store of Garnier, Parwin, and Wrath, the first a huntedcriminal, the second an officer of justice--the criminal had escapedand the officer was dead. Presumably both pursued and pursuer hadarrived at Murder Point, for the body of Strangeways, the follower, had been found a mile down-river below the Point. Then where wasSpurling? And how had he managed to escape, if he had not been helped?Who could have helped him save Granger? And why was Strangeways dead?

These were some of the many questions which avenging justice would besure to ask, and, however skilfully they might be answered, the priestknew well that it would be difficult to prevent suspicion fromattaching to a hated independent trader, especially when it becameknown that he had once been the fugitive's friend. Why, he himself hadsuspected Granger at first!

His present purpose was, if possible, to gather such proofs from thedead man's clothing as would exclude the doubt of foul play, andestablish as a fact Granger's assertion that the corporal had arrivedat his death by the accident of drowning. 

In the meanwhile, he was not meeting with much success in his search, for the right arm of the dead man was pressed so rigidly across hisbreast that it could not be moved without breaking; the hand wasconcealed and the fingers tangled in the folds of his dress, as ifeven in the last moments of life he had been conscious that he kept asecret hidden there. Only with violence could it be forced aside, andto this the priest was averse; he commenced to cut away the clothing, above downwards from the neck, below upwards from the belt. The clothripped easily, having become rotten with the wet, but the trimmings offur were tough and obstinate to separate. When he had slit the capoteand under-garments above and below the arm in two big flaps, he rolledthem back, laying bare the breast, where he discovered a silver chainwhich went about the neck, the pendant to which, wrapped in theportion of the dress that had covered it, was clutched in the icyhand. He now cut away the stuff from around the hand, and, with aseverity which seemed both profane and cruel, bent back the fingersone by one, compelling them to release their hold, so that the boneswere heard to crack. 

"What are you doing?" cried Granger, angrily, being roused by thesound from an unsatisfactory examination of the mixed feelings whichhad arisen within him on discovering that Spurling, whom he had justbeen regretting, was not dead. "Why must we torture him? Why can't weleave him alone, and lay him decently in his grave?"

"Perhaps in order that we may prevent you from being hanged. "

"From being hanged! You mistake me for Spurling, Père Antoine; yourmemory must be failing. What have I done to deserve such courtesy atthe hands of Fate? Why should men want to hang me?"

"For the murder of Strangeways. "

Granger stood back, and drew himself erect, as if by asserting hisphysical cleanness and manhood he could refute the accusation. Helifted up his head and gazed with a fixed stare on the landscape, seeing nothing. Yes, it was true, they could make that accusation;there was sufficient evidence for suspecting him and, with the aid ofa few lies and inaccurate statements on the part of hisenemies--Robert Pilgrim, for instance, and Indians whom he hadoffended--sufficient evidence might be got together to bring him tothe gallows. A fitting ending that for the son of the ambitious motherwho had stinted herself and planned for his success, and a mostappropriate sequel to the example of reckless bravery set by the lasttwo generations of his father's house!

Dimly, slowly, as he stood there in the northern icy drizzle, with hiseyes on the muddy river hurrying toward its freedom between jaggedbanks, he came very wretchedly to realise that there was only one wayin which he could save himself, a way, albeit, which both his loyaltyand honour forbade, by becoming ardent in the pursuit and effectingthe capture of Spurling, that so he might prove his innocence. Anemotion of shame and self-disgust throbbed through him that it shouldhave been possible for him, even for a moment, to entertain such acoward's thought as that. He shook himself free from temptation andlooked about. What was Père Antoine doing? What had he meant by sayingthat he was perhaps preventing him from being hanged? Did he stillbelieve him to be guilty, as he had evidently done at first?

Père Antoine was intent upon his undertaking; when asked, he onlyshook his head, saying, "If I believed you guilty, why should Iendeavour to find the signs which will prove you innocent? Would I dothat, do you think, if I believed you to be a guilty man?"

Granger was softened by those words; they meant a great deal to him atsuch a time, spoken as they were curtly by one who was so eager torehabilitate his character before all the world that he had no momentsto waste in argument. They were far more convincing to him of the trueopinion which le Père held of him than an hour consumed in apology, which would have been an hour spent in idleness. He came and kneltdown by the side of the priest, and gazed on the results of his work. He saw the cold white face of Strangeways with the eyes set wide, staring upwards at the clouds. Their gaze did not seem to concentrateas in life, but like that of a well-painted portrait, while the eyesthemselves remained fixed, wandered everywhere. Yet, when he settledhis attention upon them, they seemed to look at him alone as if, sincethe lips were silent, they were trying to speak those words which thebody had come to utter; if he turned his head away for a moment andthen looked back, they seemed themselves to have changed theirdirection and to be staring again incuriously out on space, havingabandoned hope of delivering their message. And he saw the nakedthroat and neck, and the marks where the teeth of the yellow-facedhusky had clashed and met; last of all he saw the silver chain and thependant attached, which Père Antoine had at that moment succeeded infreeing from the cold clenched hand. 

"What have you there?" he asked. 

"I don't know yet. Lift up the head, so that we can slip the chainover and find out. "

Granger did as he was bidden; but, as he stooped to his task, he washorribly conscious that the dead man's eyes were intently fixed uponhim, as if they knew and lived on, though every other part of themotionless body was dead and ignorant. 

"Well, here it is. It's a locket. "

Granger started up from the ground trembling. "Père Antoine, do youthink we ought to look at it?" he said. 

"Why not?"

"Look at the eyes of that dead man. "

"They seem to me to be saying 'yes. '"

Granger looked again, went near, bent down and looked carefully; thenhe turned his head. "You are right, " he said; "I also think they aresaying 'yes. '"

The priest put the locket in his hand. "It is for you to open it, " hesaid. 

It was of gold and studded with turquoise, a woman's trinket andold-fashioned, the chasing being worn flat in places; the silver chainwas common and strong, and had evidently not at first belonged to it, being of modern manufacture--probably a comparatively recentpurchase. Granger looked it over critically, but could get no hint ofits contents from the outside. On the front was engraved a monogram J. M. , and on the back a coat-of-arms. The lines of the monogram weredistinct and sharp to the touch, they must have been cut many yearsafter the locket itself was made, but the coat-of-arms seemedcontemporary with the rest of the chasing. He tried to open it, butthe dampness had caused it to stick, so that he broke his nails uponthe fastening. He took out his knife and attempted to lever its edgesapart with the blade. At last, growing impatient, he set it on itshinges upon a rock and commenced to hammer it with a stone. At thethird blow the fastening gave, and the sides fell apart. He could seethat it contained a miniature, and, on the other side, a lock of hair;but the glasses which shut them in were mist-covered. He rubbed themclean on the lining of his coat and looked again. 

The portrait was that of a young girl, fresh and innocent, abouteighteen years of age; her hair, worn loose, all blown about, fellupon her neck and shoulders in long curls; her eyes were blue andintensely bright; her face was animated, with a certain dash ofgenerous spirit and healthy defiance in it, which were chiefly denotedby the full firm lips and arching brows--and the face was the face ofMordaunt. For the first time, he saw the woman whom he had loved, inher rightful woman's guise. He had often longed that he might do that;it had made him feel that he shared so small a portion of her lifethat he should know her only by her man's name and remember her onlyin her Yukon placer-miner's dress. He would have stooped to kiss herlips at that time, had it not been for the presence of the dead, whohad also loved her and from whom he had stolen his treasure. Would hisbody be able to rest in the grave when thus robbed of the symbol ofthe passion which had caused its blood to pulsate most fiercely in itslife?

Then he fell to thinking other thoughts--of how strangely thisknowledge had come to him, from all across the world, by the hand of arejected lover who was dead. Had this been the secret which thecorporal had waited to tell him, thrown up on the ice, lying silentand deserted throughout that month at the bend; had he been waitingonly to say, "I hold the knowledge which you most desire in myclenched right hand. Here is her woman's likeness. I require it nolonger, now that I am dead?" No, surely he had not delayed for that. Then suddenly he realised that this must mean that the woman herselfwas dead. He remembered distinctly those last words which Strangewayshad spoken, even as though he were now repeating them again aloud, "Itell you if the ice were as rotten as your soul or Spurling's, I wouldstill follow him, though I had to follow him to Hell. " And his lastutterance had been a reiteration of that promise, "He killed the womanI loved, and he shall pay the price though I follow him to Hell. "

This was the fulfilment of that promise; though he himself was dead, he had delayed his body near Murder Point that, with his pale andsilent lips and the portrait which hung about his neck, he might urgehis rival on in their common cause of vengeance. "I will pray Godevery day of my life that Spurling may be damned throughout theages--eternally and pitilessly damned, " he had said, and now that thedays of his life were over his body had tarried behind to continuethat errand, so far as was possible, into the days of his death. Whenthey had parted that night, a month ago outside the shack, he had tolda lie; he had denied that the woman was Mordaunt who had beenmurdered, and had tried to prove his words by asserting that the bodywhich was found in the creek near Forty-Mile had worn a woman's dress. Now he had come back to silently refute his own statement, and todeclare the truth which would stir up anger and give him an inheritorof his revenge. 

Here, then, was a new reason why he should become ardent in thepursuit and effect the capture of Spurling, that by so doing he wouldbe behaving honourably by a man who was dead. He saw in it at present, with his cynic's eye for self-scorn and self-depreciation, only anadded excuse and more subtle temptation for the saving of himself. "No, I cannot do it, " he said. And yet, somewhere at the back of hisbrain, the monotonous and oracular voice of a wise self-knowledge keptanswering, "But you will do it, when you have had leisure to belonely, and have tortured yourself with memories of her. "

It seemed to Granger as though Strangeways himself were the speaker ofthose words; but when he turned round hotly, prepared for argument, hefound that the eyes had become glazed and vacant, and that at last thebody was truly dead. It had no need to live longer--it had deliveredits message. 

CHAPTER XI

THE LOVE OF WOMAN

It was past noon before they had completed Strangeways' burial at thebend. When they had finished, the skies had cleared themselves ofstorm and cloud, and the sun shone out again. The air was full ofearth-fragrance, and the landscape was cool and fresh. Nothing ofdisorder remained, no sign that a man was dead, save only a mound ofpiled-up stones and sod, surmounted by a little cross of branchesbound together with twisted grass. 

Père Antoine had searched the body with scant results, for he hadfound no more than the warrant for Spurling's detection and arrest, and the fragments of two torn and well-nigh obliterated letters, atwhich latter he had only glanced up to the present. Nor had he seenthe contents of the locket as yet, for when he had asked Granger whatwas its secret, he had received as answer, "Oh, nothing, only a younggirl's face. " So he had been foiled in his endeavour to gathermaterials for the establishing of Granger's innocence, should that beassailed, and had discovered nothing which might be of use in hisdefence. All he could contribute was his own personal evidence thatthe appearance of the body, as he had seen it, bore out Granger'saccount in every detail as to the manner in which Strangeways'catastrophe had occurred, and that his deportment, when he hadcharged him with murder, had proved conclusively to himself that therewas no ground for such an accusation. 

When they had returned to the store and had had supper together, Granger sat for a long while with the locket open before him, gazingintently on the portrait. Suddenly he looked up. "Have you seenBeorn?" he asked. "Do you know whether he is on his way back?"

"I have not seen him. "

"Antoine, you must stay here with me until he returns. "

"Why?"

"I was on my way to meet Peggy when you met and stopped me; I want youto marry us. "

"But why now and at once?"

"Because if we're not married she won't live with me, --and I must dosomething to break down my loneliness by getting a new interest intomy life. If I don't, I shall be always thinking of what has happened, and shall go mad, --in which case it will be the worse for Spurling. Idon't want to kill him--at least, not until he has had his chance toexplain himself. I'm sure now that it was Mordaunt whom he murdered, but I'm still uncertain as to whether he knew that she was a woman, atthe time when he killed her--he may not know even yet. If he did itmistaking her for a man, I might be able to forgive him; anyhow, I cansay so now, while you are with me. What I should do and think if Iwere left here miserably alone, I dare not tell. Yet, if whatStrangeways said to me is true, that her body was found at Forty-Milein a woman's dress, which would mean that Spurling killed her, well-knowing that she was a girl, why then I would go in search ofhim, and tell him what I thought about him, and shoot him carefully, and be glad when he was dead. "

"But you have promised God to leave him alone with Himself. "

"And shall I be the first man who has gone back on his prayers andpromises? There's nothing to be gained by talking about it; fate mustwork itself out. But if you want to understand what Strangeways felt, and what I am still feeling, then look at that. "

He handed him the locket. Père Antoine took it and bent above it. Atlast he said, "Why, she's only a girl . . . And he killed _her_!"

"Yes, and he killed her when her back was turned. Now do youunderstand?"

"May God help you!" was all that Antoine said. Granger went over towhere he sat and, from above his shoulder, gazed down upon theportrait. The face had in it so little that was tragic that it seemedimpossible to realise that its owner should have encountered such adeath. When the smile upon the painted lips seemed so fresh andimperishable, it seemed incredible that the lips themselves should benow silent and underground. 

"I wonder where she lived and what sort of a girlhood she had, "Granger said. 

"I have here two letters which I found upon Strangeways; perhaps theymay tell us something about her. "

Père Antoine produced the letters from an oilskin pouch. They were ina pointed feminine hand, and the ink was faded. Granger lit the lamp, for the twilight without was deepening into darkness; spreading outthe crumpled sheets on his knees before him, he read their contentsaloud. Across the top, left-hand corner of the uppermost page wasscrawled in a rude, boyish writing, "_The first letter she ever wroteme_"; the letter itself had been evidently penned by a young girl'shand. It bore the address of a school in London, and ran as follows:--

 DEAR ERIC. 

 I am very miserable hear and sometimes wonder why I was ever brought into the world. Your Papa was very kind to me once, but why has he scent me away from you? You did not want me to be scent, and so I can tell you all about myself. I am very home-sick hear. I say home-sick, though I have no home; I have always been a stranger in your Papa's house. I suppose I am reely home-sick for you. I think it is because you and I are seperated that I am sorry. The girls hear are not always kind; they say that I look as though I had been crying, and then of course I do cry when they say that. But if my eyes are red, I don't care. I want you badly and I'm writting to tell you that. Don't forget to feed my rabbits. 

 Your loving little friend, J. M. 

The second was marked in the same way, but in a manlier hand, "_Herlast letter to me_. "

 DEAREST ERIC. 

 I am so sorry that I am the cause of all this trouble, and that I cannot love you in the way that you and your father so much desire. I would do anything to make you happy save that--play the coward, and say that I love you as a woman should whom you were going to marry, when I do not. I have always been used to think of you as a brother, which is natural, seeing that from our earliest childhood we have grown up together. I thought that you would be content with that; no other kind of affection for you has ever entered into my heart or head. 

 Your father was very angry with me last night after you went out. He said that I, by my conduct, had led you on to _expect_; believe me, I never meant to do that. It never occurred to me that there was any need to be careful in your presence. The truth is, I have always been an interloper in your home; you will remember how, long years since, when first I went to boarding-school, I told you that . . . (four lines were here undecipherable, being faded and rubbed out). When I look back, I see that in all my life you have been my only friend--which makes me the more unhappy that this has happened. Mind, I don't mean to accuse your family of unkindness; I only say that I, perhaps naturally, was never one of them. If I thought that you would be willing, knowing how I feel toward you, to make me your wife, for the sake of your peace I might consent even to that. But you are not such a man. (Three lines were here obliterated. ) Let there be no bitterness between us by reason of harsh words which others have spoken; what has happened must make a difference, but I want to remain still your friend. This recent occurrence seems to make it necessary that one of us should go away--there will never be any quiet in your father's house while we both live there. Don't be alarmed or surprised if you get word shortly that I have vanished. 

 Yours as ever, J. M. 

To this letter was added a note in Strangeways' hand at the bottom ofthe page, "_She was not to blame; it was I who left_. "

"We have not learnt very much about her from those two letters, havewe?" said Père Antoine. "They are ordinary, and leave many questions, which we wanted to ask, unanswered. "

"Yes, they do little more than confirm Strangeways' own statements, and yet. . . . "

"Well?"

"They tell us that her true initials were J. M. , the same as those ofher assumed name, and the same as those of the monogram on the locket;and they tell us of her great loneliness. "

"But I can't see how a knowledge of that one fact--her greatloneliness--will help us; it does not reconstruct for us the detailsof her life so that we can imagine her to ourselves, nor does itcontribute anything towards your defence. "

"Bother my defence. I don't much care if I am hanged; that would atleast be a final solution, so far as I am concerned, to this problemof living. What troubles me at present is, how is this woman feelingabout my marriage with a half-breed girl? Now these letters help me;they make me certain that whatever I may be compelled to do at anyfuture time by reason of my isolation, she will not be hard upon me, but will understand. This marriage with Peggy, for instance, lookslike a betrayal of her. And though she is dead, I should hate togrieve her in the other world. "

Granger paused, and then he added fiercely, "And I'm glad of that lastletter for another reason, because it states so clearly that she neverloved the other man. "

"That can make no difference now. "

"But it can, " said Granger, rising to his feet, and speaking in astrained whisper, with clenched hands, "I tell you it can. If Ithought that she had ever really cared for him, I would shoot myselfhere and now, that I might be beside her to get between him and her. The thought that he was there with her all alone in the vastness, freeto do and to say just whatever he pleased, and that I was shut out, would drive me crazy. Do you think that, if I supposed that he had gothis arms around her over there, I could ever rest--if I thought thatshe would allow him? One little pull of a trigger, the report of arevolver, which I probably shouldn't hear and in any case shouldn'tcare about, and the journey would be accomplished and I could bebending over her. It sounds very tempting. But I'm prepared to liveout my life like a man, now that I know that she understands. If shehadn't known what loneliness meant, she might misjudge my motives intaking up with Peggy, and might, out of revenge, instead of waitingfor me, herself take up with Strangeways before my arrival there. "

Père Antoine watched him gravely for some seconds after he hadfinished speaking; then he said, "I don't think that Heaven is quitelike that; but none of us can be certain, perhaps your views are ascorrect as those of anyone else. When I was a young man, before I cameto Keewatin, I should have been angry with any man who had said tome a thing like that--but we come to hold strange opinions in thisland where all things, judged by our former standards of sanity, even God Himself, seem mad. At that time I longed to be dogmaticand definite in all my beliefs on religion, and this life, and theafter-world--that was why I became a Jesuit, that I might exchangedespair for certainty. Now, priest though I am, like you I see onegigantic interrogation mark written over sky and earth--and because ofit I am grateful. I have learnt that the whole attraction of religionfor the human mind, and the entire majesty of God depend on Hismystery and silence, and the things which He does not care to tell. Ifall our questions were answered, we might lose our God-sense. If weknew everything, we should cease to be curious and to strive. Of onething only are we certain, that Jesus lived and died, and that thoughwe live in the uttermost parts of the earth, it is our duty to be likeHim. "

"And Spurling--if Spurling dwells near us in the uttermost parts ofthe earth?"

"He also is God's child. "

"It is easy for you to talk, Père Antoine; you are an old man, and, being a priest, have never loved a woman yourself. "

The stern, grey features of the Jesuit relaxed; he hesitated, then hesaid, "My child, don't be too sure of that. Perhaps I may beattempting to live this life well only in order that I may make sureof meeting and being worthy of one such woman in the after-world. Ifthat were so, it would be great shame to me, for I ought to bestriving to live this life well solely for the love of Christ. "

He fell silent, sitting with his head bent forward, his gnarled handsfolded on his knees before him. A far-away look had come into hiseyes, a fixed expression of calmness, as though they slept with thelids parted. Granger watched the hands, mutilated and ruined, withthree fingers missing from the right, and two from the left; and yet, despite their brokenness, he thought how beautiful they were. Therewas scarcely a part of the priest's body that had not been at sometime shattered with service. It had never occurred to Granger thatPère Antoine, like most other men in the district, had a past whichdid not belong to Keewatin--memories of a happier time to which hemight sometimes look back with the painfulness of regret. Antoine hadbeen there so long that there was no man who remembered the day whenfirst he arrived. He seemed as natural to the landscape as the LastChance River itself. And now suddenly, in an electric moment ofsympathy, his past had revealed itself. 

Granger watched and waited, hoping that presently he would explain. Itoccurred to him as a discovery that he had no knowledge of thepriest's real name or of his family. At his nationality he could onlyguess, supposing him to be a Frenchman or a French-Canadian. Howincurious he had been! And, in this case, lack of curiosity had meantlack of kindness; he blamed himself. He, like all Keewatin, was readyin time of crisis to draw upon the old man's strength, but beyond thathe had never shown him real friendship--he had never been conscious ofany desire to hear about the man himself. And now he had learned thatthis man also had a tragedy, and, like himself, had loved a woman whowas now long since dead. He wanted to ask him questions, that so hemight make up for omitted kindnesses; but he was restrained when helooked upon the grey dreamy countenance, for it was evident that lePère was wandering in the idealised meadows of a bygonepleasantness--a country which was known only to himself. So Grangerreturned his eyes to the portrait which he had taken from the deadman's hand, and, gazing upon it, tried his best to fill in the blanksin his little knowledge of the woman he had loved. 

He constructed for himself a picture of an ivied manor-house, terracedand with an old-world garden lying round about it, where her childhoodhad been spent and where she had grown to girlhood. He told himselfthat there must have been a river somewhere near, and he imagined heras stretched upon its banks in the summer shadows. And he thought ofthe schoolhouse in London, and the little heart-weary child who hadpenned that letter there. He re-read it, and then once again re-readit, suffering the same agony of longing for things irrecoverable whichthis small creature had suffered years ago, who was now beyond allknowledge of pain. What a mystery it was that across that expanse ofspace and years her letter should have drifted down to him, fromLondon to Keewatin, carried over the last few yards of its journey inthe breast of a man who was already dead. It made him feel less of anexile that a miracle like that could happen--it was almost as thoughshe herself had appealed to him from the hidden world. It made him askhimself that question, which so many had asked before him, "_And arewe really ever dead_?"

Père Antoine stirred, rose up and walked over to the window, where hestood in the shadow, outside the circle of the lamp's rays, with hisback turned toward the younger man. There was something which hewanted to say, but which he found difficult to express. Grangerguessed that, and so he said, "Antoine, you are thinking of _her_to-night. She must have lived very long ago. Was she anything like theportrait of this young girl?"

There was silence. Then, still gazing away from him, his long leanfigure blocking out the moonlight, the priest returned, "All whitewomen seem alike to one who has lived long in Keewatin. Yet that facedid seem very like to hers; but it is many years ago now, and I maynot remember her well. She died; and she was everything that was ofworth to me in this world. I begin to fear that she is all that Icount of highest value in the next. "

"But why fear? I should not fear that. "

"Because, being a missionary, with me it should be otherwise. I becamea Jesuit through distrust of myself. I knew, when she had been takenfrom me, that because of my despair, if I did not bind myself stronglyto that which was highest, I should sink to that which was worst. AndI knew that if I sank to that which was worst, she would be lost to methroughout all eternity. So, in order that God might give her to meagain in a future world, I strove to bribe Him; I asked that I mightbe sent to this hardest of all fields of missionary labour, hopingthat thus I might acquire merit. Since then a new doubt has come tohaunt me, has been with me half a century; the fear lest the lifewhich I have led may count for nothing, may be regarded as onlysinfulness, because I have done God's work for her sake rather thanfor the sake of His Christ, and that therefore as a punishment to meshe may still be withheld. Ah, I have fought against her memory, trying to cling only to God! That has been useless. So I have gone ondoing my best for my fellow-men, hoping that He may overlook themotive, and judging only by the work, may give me my reward in theend, --may allow me to be with her. "

"Antoine, I am a sinful man and one who is little qualified to judgeof God's purposes, but I think that He will grant you your request. But if you, with all your goodness, are banished from her whom youloved most on earth, how can I hope for success?"

Then the Jesuit turned round and faced him. "It was because I fearedfor your success that I mentioned my own trouble, " he said. "You areplanning to do a thing which is right in marrying this half-breedgirl--you owe it to her and to God, inasmuch as you have lived withher. But you will be doing her a greater wrong than if you were toleave her unmarried, if, when you have made her your wife, you thinkonly of the dead white woman. When the turmoil of living is over, youwant to meet and be worthy of the woman who wrote those letters, youtell me; your best chance of success in that desire is in trying toforget her in this world, by giving all your affection to the womanwho is your wife, and trusting to God's goodness to give you therewards which He knows that you covet after death. Don't make mymistake--it means torture in this life, and, perhaps, disappointmentin the next. Be true to the choice which you have made, and leave therest to God's mercy. I have not been strong enough to do all that Iadvise, for, though I love Christ, I am shamed into owning, old manthough I am, that I more often do His work in the hope of re-meetingwith a woman who is dead than out of loyalty to Christ Himself. "

"Père Antoine, you do not judge kindly of your own actions as Christwould judge of them; you Catholics, in making Christ God, forget thatHe also was a lonely man. I think it is not as a God, but as a peasantthat He will judge us, having knowledge of what we have suffered--ifHe judges us at all. It is more likely that He will just be sorry forus, that we ever thought that He would judge us. "

"Whether I judge kindly or not, will you try to take my advice? I havetold you a secret to-night which never, since I came to Keewatin, haveI told to any man. And I have told you that I may save you. Believeme, if you cannot love your daily companions for their own sake inthis world, whoever and wherever they are, you will fail to find lovefor your own sake in the next--and to love well, whatever you love youmust love for itself, and not for any future and mercenary end. "

Granger moved restlessly, but remained silent; then he sat still andthought. Père Antoine also said nothing, for he knew that the manbefore him was reasoning his way toward a decision upon which all hishappiness must depend. 

But to Granger the problem appeared quite otherwise; it seemed to himthat he was being asked to abandon another pleasantness for the sakeof Peggy, a half-breed girl, for whom he had been prepared already tosacrifice his career. To be sure, his career was not of much value atpresent, and didn't seem a large thing to sacrifice; but then, when itcomes to giving anything away, even the most thorough-paced pessimistis capable of turning optimist about its worth. 

Since he had become certain of Mordaunt's death, he had vaguelyplanned out for himself a course of spiritual debauchery, though hewould not have applied to it such a word. He had expected to marryPeggy Ericsen, and to live with the memory of the woman for whom hehad really cared. His wife was to have been the servant of his comfortand desires, and the dead woman the companion of his mind and dailyround. So he hoped, by keeping Mordaunt near him in his thoughts, toqualify himself for attaining her after death, and to atone for hisapostasy in marrying a different woman while yet on earth. Throughoutall his reasoning ran a streak of madness, of which he himself wastotally unaware. And now, when he had completed arrangements to hisown satisfaction, here came this Jesuit telling him that such a courseof action savoured of adultery, and would probably end in the eternalseparation of Mordaunt from himself. 

Presently he heard a sound of moving. He looked up. Antoine wasstanding before him, on the outer edge of the light which was thrownby the lamp, appearing huge and prophetic against the background ofdwarfed shadows which crawled over wall and ceiling, crowding behindhim. His awe for the office of the man returned to him, blotting outthe equality which the past few hours of confession had brought about. Once more he recalled how it was said that le Père had been seenwalking in the wilderness, wearing the countenance of Jesus Christ. Helooked like that now. Granger, made conscious of his own premeditatedwrong-doing, shrank back before him. Yet the words which Père Antoineuttered were very simple: "I am an old man, and I knew what I wassaying, " was all he said. 

Granger rose to his feet. "I'm going out, " he said. "I'll return in alittle while and give you my decision. "

He passed out from the close stale air of the shack into thestarlight; he could be nearer God there. A low, leisurely wind wasjourneying over the forest, crooning softly to itself as it went. Dominant over all other sounds, as was ever the case at Murder Point, the wash of the ongoing river was to be heard--even in winter, whenevery other live thing had ceased to stir, it was not silent. But now, in the early summer of the northern year, it laughed uproariously andclapped its hands against the banks in its passage, as if the waterwere calling to the land, "Good-bye, old fellow; you won't see meagain for many a century. It was the end of the ice age when last weparted. " To Granger the shouting of the river was for all the worldlike that of a troop-ship departing for a distant country. "Farewell, farewell, " it cried. The sound of its going made him weary with asense of world-wideness; if he was left behind to-day, when once hehad joined himself to a daughter of that country, he would be foreverleft behind. But he had come outside not to reargue his way over theold ground, but to decide. To do that he must be alone, quitesolitary; and there, just outside the shack, he was all too consciousof Père Antoine's eyes. 

Slowly he commenced to descend the Point toward the river-bank. As hewent, a new desire sprang up within him--to speak with Strangeways; ifpossible to make a compact and extort some approving sign from thatdead man. Stepping into the canoe, he pushed off lightly and set outfor the bend. The nearer he drew, the sterner his face became; he wasthinking of what he should say, and one has to be careful in what hesays in speaking with a man who is dead. Soon he came in sight of theflimsy little cross which they had raised, and saw the stones whichthey had piled above the body, shining white and grey in themoonlight; then with a twist of the paddle his canoe shot in towardthe bank and the prow grated on the ice. Granger stepped out andbeached his craft above the water's edge. With slow deliberate stepshe went forward till he stood above the grave. There, with his handsclasped behind him and his head bowed, he waited for a few minuteslistening, half expecting that something would happen. When nothingstirred, he went upon his knees, as if he prayed, placing his lips sonear to the grave that sometimes they touched the stones and mould;and so he began to speak to the man imprisoned beneath the ground. 

"Strangeways, " he said, "you know everything about me now, and youought to understand. I want to act fairly by you. I didn't do that inyour lifetime; if I had, you might not now be dead. I ought to havewarned you about the ice at first, and I ought to have told you thetruth about Spurling; then you might have believed me. But I did trymy best to save you in the end. Père Antoine says that I may gethanged for your death; but I don't mind that so very much, if I canonly act fairly by you now. "

He paused to hear whether there was any sound of movement underground;when he heard none, he knew that the dead man was listening andwaiting eagerly for what would come next. Crouching still nearer, sothat he might narrow the space between them, "Strangeways, are youlistening?" he said. "We both loved her, and neither of us won her inthis world; but because you are dead, you are nearer to her now than Iam. I want you to promise me to do nothing till I have come. "

And still when he halted, waiting for his answer, nothing stirred. Presently he spoke again. "I have a reason for asking which, if youremember anything of what you suffered in this life, you shouldunderstand. To save myself from madness, I must have a companion, andso I am going to marry a woman of this country. In order that I maylive well with her, and even in order to marry her, I must pledge myword to forget Mordaunt while I am in this world. Now do youunderstand? I cannot pledge my word until you have promised me thatyou will do nothing until I am also dead. " He fell forward over thegrave and lay there silent. His brain had become numb; he couldfashion no more words--perhaps in the interval which elapsed heslept. Then it seemed to him that the chambers within his brain werelighted up, so that pressing his face against the crannies and betweenthe stones he could look right down, and see distinctly the narrow bedof the grave whereon the body of Strangeways rested. The eyes of thebody were open and the lips were working, trying to say something. Bywatching the lips he discovered that they kept on repeating, over andover, one word; then he read that that word was _revenge_. "I cannot, I cannot, " he whispered. "I have promised God that I will not; and, moreover, to take revenge on Spurling would be to remember her. "

Was it that he moved as he slept, or did the thing which he thought hesaw actually occur! Some stones slipped from off the mound and, to hiseyes looking down into the grave, it seemed that Strangeways' handbegan to grope frantically after the locket which had been about hisneck, and that, finding it missing, his face became angry and hestrove to rise, causing the stones to fall and the ground to tremble. 

Granger jumped up, and stood there shaking with his hands clenched andhis head thrown back, prepared. 

"Will you answer me?" he cried in despair. "Don't you know how Isuffer? If you consent to what I have asked of you, give me a sign? Ifnothing happens, I shall know that you are cruel and do not care. "

When he had waited in vain some seconds, he lost his nerve and hiscourage. Kneeling beside the grave he commenced to weep, smoothing thestones with his hands coaxingly like a child, and whispering, "Give mea sign. Give me a sign. Give me a sign. "

Suddenly he paused in his pleading. The rustling of water against atravelling prow, and sound of paddles thrust in, forced back, andwithdrawn, struck upon his ears. He threw himself full length alongthe ground; he did not want to be discovered there. Stealing up-streamfrom the northward, creeping close in to the opposite bank to avoidthe current, came a canoe, sitting deep in the water, heavily ladenwith furs; the stern-paddle was held by a tall and thickly beardedman, and in the prow, even at that distance and in that shadowy light, it was possible to make out that the second figure was that of a girl. Granger recognised them immediately, and knew that the Man with theDead Soul and his daughter had returned. He also noticed that Eyelidswas not there. They did not see him, but quickly vanished round thebend. 

When all was silent and lonely again, Granger arose. "It is a sign, "he said. Standing above the grave, before departing he spoke once morewith the man who lay buried there. "Strangeways, you may rest quietnow, " he said. "Though I cannot revenge her as you have desired, wecan both, in our separate ways, be true to her. "

He delayed a moment to have what he had said confirmed; but this timeno token either of dissent or approval was vouchsafed. 

CHAPTER XII

HE REVIEWS HIS MARRIAGE, AND IS PUT TO THE TEST

It was the first week in June; for a fortnight John Granger had been amarried man. He was now removed a sufficiently just distance from hisbachelor-hood to be able to estimate the value of the change whichthis new step had wrought in his career. 

Its true worth to him had been that it had converted him from aLondoner in Keewatin into a man of the Northland. This might mean, though it need not, that he had retrograded to a lower type; at allevents it meant that he was robbed of his excuse for consideringhimself an exile, bearing himself rebelliously toward his environment, and being unhappy. By joining himself to Peggy by the rites of theRoman Church, he had made an irrevocable choice, had slammed the doorof opportunity and return to civilisation in his own face, and hadadopted as his country a land where no one has any use for money orfor time, and where nothing could ever again be of very muchimportance. He had not realised all that a fortnight ago when, at thebidding of the Jesuit, he had made this girl his wife; but since hehad lived in her company he had come to realise. Mercifully there isno situation, however bad, which may not develop the peculiar virtuewhereby it can be endured. He had learnt his virtue by observingPeggy, an Indian virtue at that--stolidity. In a great lonelyterritory, where men say good-bye to one another for twelve months ata stretch, and sometimes forever, they arrive at a philosophy of lifewhich consists in waiting very patiently and unambitiously for thenext thing which the good God may send. To attain this sort ofquietness a man must be quite hopeless, for so long as he hopes he isliable to disappointment. Also he must live each day as though it werehis first, for to remember things past is to court regret. He mustpermit himself to know none of the extremes of emotion, either of joyor of sadness; to this end he must consider himself as a non-partisanin life, a careless spectator before whose eyes the groping shadowspass. The traffic of words is a labour, and a more frequent cause ofmisunderstanding than of interpretation--therefore it is wiser, ifpeace be desired, to keep always silent. Where a gesture will do thework of a word, let a gesture suffice. 

All this Granger had learnt during the fortnight which he had livedwith his wife; in watching her, he had studied to forego his formerturbulence of mind as a thing most foolish, and had determined to sinkdown into the dull acceptance of a destiny against which it wasprofitless to contend--a kind of resigned contentment. If he was to behanged to-morrow for Strangeways' death, that was no reason why heshould disturb himself to-day; if that was to happen, it would come topass in any case, --nothing that he might do or say could prevent it. The momentary pain of dying is usually much less intense than thehours of cowardly suffering which men bring upon themselves byprevising the anguish of their last departure, so he told himself. Soto-day he sat outside his store in the sunshine and smoked his pipe, the freest and silentest man in all Keewatin, and, he would have hadhimself believe, the most stably contented. 

That night, when he had left Père Antoine and had gone to consult thedead man at the bend, had been the turning-point in his frenzy. Itseemed to him, as he looked back, to have happened long ago when hewas little more than a child, at a time before his enlightenment, whenhe had supposed very foolishly that he was of importance to God and tohis fellow-men. Now he had come to know that he was of no importanceeven to himself. He blew out a cloud of smoke and watched it vanish inthe air; in other days he would have smiled, but it was not worth theeffort now. The relation of that whiff of tobacco-smoke to theunplumbed space, throughout which it would be dispersed, was about thesame as that of his present existence to the rest of the world. 

When, having said good-bye to Strangeways, he had followed the Manwith the Dead Soul back to the store, he had made up his mind to theinevitable, and had been prepared to greet Peggy with a certaindisplay of joy. Before ever he could put his thought into action, hisintention had been repelled. As he had drawn nearer to the crazywooden pier which ran out from Murder Point, he had seen the shadowyshapes of the trapper and his daughter, bending down, unloading theircanoe, moving slowly hither and thither through the night. As he hadcome up, he had hailed them. To his call Beorn had made no reply, hadonly turned his head and nodded, while Peggy, stooping over a pile offurs, had thrown him the customary salutation of the Cree Indian tothe white man, used both on arrival and departure, "Watchee"--which isa corruption of "What cheer. " No other words of greeting had passedbetween them, and he, when he had landed, had set to work at once tohelp them with their unlading. When that was finished and the furs hadbeen carried up to the store, they had raised their tent, kindledtheir fire, brewed their black tea, cooked their bacon, and gone torest. Granger had so far intruded on their reserve as to ask them tospend the night in his store, but his invitation had been ungraciouslyrefused with a shake of the head. 

Next day Père Antoine had married them, after which he had departed, promising, however, to return before the summer was out. Granger hadsaid nothing more to him either concerning Spurling or the death ofStrangeways, except to insist that the warrant for the arrest, together with the letters and locket which had been found, should beleft with himself; nevertheless, he had been well aware that thesethings were largely responsible for the hurry of the priest'sdeparture. At first he had not been surprised at the silence of Peggy, for he had grown accustomed to the shy modesty of women who areIndian-bred. The women of Keewatin accept it as their fate that theyare born to be subservient to men--to be their burden-bearers. But atthe end of a few days, when her demeanour had shown no sign of change, he had become a little curious. In the early part of the year thewhite blood that was in her had been more manifest, and because of itshe had been proud. When she had insisted that he should marry her, ifhe would live with her, the reason she had given him for her demandhad been _because her blood was white_. Since then she had journeyedinto the winter-wilderness with the menfolk of her family, like anyother Indian or half-breed girl, and in the primeval solitariness ofthe land the red blood of her mother had asserted itself; the hand ofher native deity had been laid upon her mouth, staying her flow ofwords, the shyness of the forest-gods had entered into her eyes, andthe Lord God of Women had stooped her shoulders, causing her to carryher head less bravely, binding the hereditary burden of the red womanupon her back. She had unlearned in those few months all the conceitsof self-respect which she had been taught in the school at Winnipeg, and had reverted to the ancient type from which she was sprung, --theriver Indian. Granger, as he watched her, guessed all this, for hadnot he himself been parted from his old traditions?--and he had notknown Keewatin till he was a grown man. Well, these people had livedthere longer than he had! They should know what was best suited totheir circumstance, he told himself; and so, without questioning orcombatting their social methods, he resigned himself to accept theirmodes of life. 

It was a strange wedding that he had had--very different from the kindhe had planned for himself in the heat of his passion, when he was ayounger man. And this was a strange woman whom he must call hiswife--one who worked for him tirelessly with her head and hands, butwho appeared to crave for none of his affection, and with whom hecould have not a moment's conversation; the exchange of a fewmonosyllables and signs in the course of a day seemed to be the mostthat he might expect. Yet, because of her meekness and faithfulness, and her ready willingness to serve, he was conscious of a growingprotective quality of love for her. If he could prevent himself fromadopting her reticence, he promised himself that he would gather herwhole heart into his own by and by. 

He did not as yet realise that the mere fact that he could feel thustowards her, when no speech had passed between them, was an indicationthat she was communicating herself in a more vigorous and sincererlanguage than that of words. This difference between them, that heexpected her to use her lips to explain her personality, and that she, far from imagining that she was silent, believed herself to be in herdeeds most eloquent, was one of the few traits remaining to him of thestreet-born man. 

As an example of their reservedness was the fact that, though Eyelids, Peggy's brother, had set out on the winter hunt and had not returned, no explanation of his delay had been forthcoming, nor had Grangersummoned up the energy to inquire for himself. On their first arrivalhe had felt distinctly curious as to his whereabouts. Had he comeacross traces of Spurling and gone in pursuit of him? Had he heardfrom some stray Indian that Spurling was an outlaw, with a price uponhis head? Had Beorn, having found that his cache at the ForbiddenRiver had been broken into, dispatched his son to follow up the thiefand exact revenge? Or was Spurling dead, and had Eyelids killed him, for which reason he was afraid to come back?

For the first few days after his marriage these questions and answershad been continually running through his head; but since he had learntthe lesson that nothing was of much importance, he had almost ceasedto care. Why should he trouble to inquire? If he did, he might get noreply; and if he was answered, the probability was that his only gainwould be something fresh to worry about. The unreturning of Eyelidswas one small detail of the total unreality, the dream which he hadonce taken so seriously, which in former times he had called life; andof that dream the arrival and flight of Spurling were the nightmare. No one of all these happenings had ever been--they were unactual: andthe chances were that even he himself was no reality. 

Beorn Ericsen, the Man with the Dead Soul as he was called, was afitting tutor to a pupil of this philosophy. Compared with him, hisdaughter was a whirlwind of words; the lesson of silence, which shetaught by her behaviour, she had first learnt from her father on thewinter trail--in the presence of his stern taciturnity she appeared agarrulous amateur. 

Whence he had originally come, no one had ever persuaded him to tell. On his first arrival in the district, which was reported to have takenplace nearly forty years ago, for the first two years he was said tohave conducted himself more or less like a normal man. At that time hemust have been near mid-life, for he was now well past seventy tojudge by his appearance. Even then, on his first coming, something hadhappened, which he did not care to talk about, which made him glad ofthe dreary seclusion of Keewatin. It had been generally supposed thathe was badly wanted by Justice, for having shot his man in a borderhold-up, or for deeds of violence in some kindred escapade. 

At any rate, he had set about his living in Keewatin in earnest, asthough he had determined to stay there. Having attached himself to theHudson Bay Company, he soon proved himself to be an expert trapper, and a man who, for his reckless courage, was to be valued. Promotionseemed certain for him and, despite the fact that he had joined theCompany late in life, the likelihood of his attaining a factorship inthe end was not improbable. It was then, after he had won theconfidence of his employers, that he had taken that journey to theNorth, through an unexplored country, from which he had come backdazed and dreary-eyed, so that it seemed as though he must have metwith some dire calamity in the winter desolation, one from which fewmen would have escaped alive, which had robbed him of his reason. Whenthey had asked him where he had journeyed, "Far, far, " was all hewould reply. And when, hoping to satisfy their curiosity by a lessdirect method, they had questioned him, "What did you see up there?""Blackness--it was dark, " was the most that he would answer them. 

Because of these answers there were some who supposed that, emulatingThomas Simpson, he had penetrated into the Arctic Circle and had gazedupon the frozen quiet of an undiscovered ocean. He had wrested fromGod the secret which He was anxious to withhold, they said, and God invengeance had condemned him to be always silent. But the Indiansexplained his condition more readily, speaking in whispers about himaround camp-fires among themselves. The last place at which he hadbeen seen by anyone on that journey was at the mouth of the ForbiddenRiver, along whose banks it was commonly believed stretched thevillages and homes of manitous, and souls of the departed. The Creesasserted that this was not the first man who, to their knowledge, hadwandered up that river and had thus returned. Some few of theirboldest hunters had from time to time set out and, roving furtherafield than their brethren, had likewise trespassed all unaware withinthe confines of the spirit-land. So they said that Beorn had been tothe Land of Shadows, and that, by reason of his surpassing strength, he had contrived to escape; but that he had left his soul behind himthere, and it was only his body which had come back. 

From that day he had been known as _The Man with the Dead Soul_. Gradually, as the years went by, the deathly vacancy had gone out ofhis eyes, but he had remained a man separated from living men. Herarely spoke, but from the first his peculiarities had made nodifference to his expertness as a trapper--he was more skilful, whiteman though he was, than many of the Crees themselves. All the strengthwhich should have been spent upon his soul seemed to have gone topreserving the perfection of his body. For a man of his years, he wassurprisingly vigorous and erect--no labour could tire him. This, saidthe Indians, was the usual sign of bodies which lived on when theirsouls were dead. He was much feared, and his influence in the districtwas great; in gaining him as a partisan, Granger had achieved atriumph over Robert Pilgrim, and had improved his status among thenative trappers more than could have been possible by any other singleact. 

Beorn was reverenced as a kind of minor deity; no wish of his, howeversilently expressed, was ever denied by an Indian. When he had chosenPeggy's mother to be his wife, it had been done merely by the raisingof his hand. Straightway the girl's father had driven herpanic-stricken forth from his camp, compelling her to go to thisstrange bridegroom, lest a curse should fall upon his tribe. To her, if absence of cruelty is kindness, he had been uniformly kind. Love isnot necessary to an Indian marriage, so she had not been too unhappy. At Peggy's birth, having first borne him a son, she had died. Thelittle girl had been brought up and cared for by the silent man; theshy tenderness she expressed for him went far to prove that she, atleast, had discovered something more vital within him than could beexpected to reside in the body of a man whose soul was dead. Hissending of her to the school in Winnipeg had shown that he was not soforgetful as he seemed to be of the outside world which he had left. This last act had come as a great surprise to all who knew him; butthey had contrived to retain their old opinion of him by assertingthat this was the doing of Père Antoine. 

Only on rare occasions had Beorn let any of his secrets out; when hegot drunk he recovered his power of speech, or, as the Indians said, for a little space his soul returned. This had happened less and lessfrequently of recent years. It was well remembered by old-timers atGod's Voice how once, in the early morning in Bachelors' Hall, at theend of a night's carousal, when the trappers and traders from thedistant outposts had made their yearly pilgrimage to the fort bringingin their twelve months' catch of furs, Beorn, under the influence ofrum, had risen uninvited, and, to the consternation of his intoxicatedcompanions, had trolled forth a verse from a fighting mining ballad. As well might the statue of Lord Nelson climb down from its monumentin Trafalgar Square and, with the voice of a living man, commence toaddress a London crowd. The verse which he sang ran as follows; to thefew who were aware, it solved the mystery of an important portion ofhis hidden early history:

 "The Ophir on the Comstock Was rich as bread and honey; The Gould and Curry, farther south, Was raking out the money; The Savage and the others Had machinery all complete, When in came the Groshes And nipped all our feet. "

When he had completed the verse, he had slowly gazed round and caughtthe look of amaze which had dawned in the countenances of his drunkenassociates. He had come to himself and grown sober. Suddenly anexpression of intense fear and hatred had shot into his eyes; withoutsaying another word, he had turned his back on the company and goneout into the early morning, floated his canoe, and fled as one who waspursued for his life. That verse had explained many of Beorn'seccentricities to one of those who had heard it, and he had told therest. Its singing had meant that, sometime in the early sixties, Beornhad taken part in the gold-rush to the Comstock, and had worked andprospected in the Nevada mines. 

This was his solitary glaring indiscretion in all the course of hisforty years spent in Keewatin. Though he had had many opportunitiessince then to repeat the event when under the influence of liquor, hehad allowed nothing more of any importance to escape his lips. He hadnever spent much time at God's Voice, only turning up at the end ofhis hunt to dispose of his catch of furs, after which he would vanishinto the wilderness again. He avoided on every occasion and wasrestless in the company of men. Very rarely was he encountered on hishunting-trips by any of the Indians or trappers. When once he had setout, he was not seen again until he returned of his own choice. Thefew times that he had been met, he was far to the northward, aboutthe point where the Last Chance and Forbidden Rivers join, whence theyflow on together till they tumble their crowded waters into thefreedom of the Hudson Bay. Because it was always in this locality thathe had been met, a rumour got abroad that, when his body was notdwelling among living men, it journeyed up the Forbidden River, toreunite with his exiled soul in the habitations of the dead. 

Granger had listened to all these reports from time to time, but hehad paid small heed to them; he was certain in his own mind that, should he live solitarily in Keewatin for forty years, as Beorn haddone, a similar web of legend would be woven about himself. The man'sconduct was to him self-explanatory; in his early manhood he hadcommitted some passionate wrong, and had fled into the wilderness toescape the penalty, only to find that the executioner was there beforehim--the Silence, and that the enduring of loneliness was a more cruelpunishment than any that an earthly judge could have measured out. Theboat was one and the same which carried Beorn, Spurling, and himself. He promised himself that, by and by, as in the case of Peggy, he wouldbreak through Beorn's silence, get to know the man, plunge deep downtill he held his heart in his hand. 

So he sat outside his store in the June sunlight, oblivious of himselfand the passage of Time, lifted high above the strife, andimpartially, like an ancient deity, reviewed the lives of men. 

On the boarded floor of the shack he could hear the moccasined feet ofPeggy moving busily to and fro, as she prepared the meal. They hadnetted some white-fish over night, so their larder was freshlysupplied. On the edge of the pier, which ran out from the Point, Beorn sat, mending one of his traps. Along the top of the roof percheda row of whisky-jacks, most impertinent of birds, who, when a man hascarried his food almost to his mouth, will flash down, light on hishand, and, before he knows that they have arrived, filch away themorsel. Somewhere across the river a whippoorwill kept on uttering itsplaintive cry, as it were Beorn's lost soul come back, pleadinginsistently for permission to take up its residence in his body onceagain. And over against the farther bank a brood of yellow ducklingsswam in and out among the rushes, hidden behind which their motherwatched and waited. The noon came on apace, the shadows shortened, andeverything grew silent; over forest and river a restful stillnesssettled down. If the Last Chance would always look like that it wouldbe almost habitable. Had it been placed in any country where therewere men, it would be considered beautiful just now. Ah, well, afterhe had been married a few years, he would have his children runninghither and thither, laughing and chattering, about the Point; then itwould be in his own choice to make of his environment what he liked. Gazing whimsically forward to such a time he could conceive that, werehe given the opportunity to return to civilisation, by some curiousturn of the wheel of fortune, he might prefer to stay; that such anopportunity might be possible, it would first be necessary that heshould have been acquitted from all suspicion concerning the death ofStrangeways. 

It was easy to be optimistic on such a day; there was a cleanness ofyouth about the appearance of this newly awakened world which reactedon the watcher's mind. 

Peggy had come out from the shack and was seated on the threshold;even she was conscious of a certain elation, for she was humming toherself one of those endless, tuneless, barbaric Indian airs whichonly take on the pretence of music when they are assisted by thestamping of many feet, and the clapping of many hands. When Grangerturned his head in her direction, she lowered her eyes, and hersinging ceased. He had not meant that she should do that; he wasmerely wondering whether she was really a pretty girl and whether, ifhe were to take her back with him to England, she would be seen asbeautiful by London eyes. London eyes! What had they ever seen thatwas essentially beautiful and free? They could judge of the latestfashion in hats, and of the proper size of the laced-in waist; butwhat had they ever seen of the naked, sinuous grace of the human bodyas God made it and had meant that it should be seen? Of nakedness andsimplicity, and all things genuine, the civilised man had been taughtto be ashamed. No, no, to-day, in the sunshine, he felt sure that hewould not return to the insincerity, artificiality, and theblinkered-eyes of the town, were he given his choice. He wanted tobreathe cleanness, and to see God's hand at work, and to be _a man_;in London, or any other city, individuality and all these things wouldbe denied. He could be very happy now, he believed; now that he wasnot lonely any longer, because he had a wife. He wished that he couldfind a language in which to tell her these things. But he feared tospeak; he knew that as yet, just returned from the winter-trail, shewould not understand. 

While he had been thinking, she had slowly raised her eyes; she wasnot looking at him, but northeast, down-river, toward the bend. Turning suddenly, he caught the direction of her gaze. Glancing downto the pier, he discovered that Beorn's eyes were also turned thatway. What were they waiting for? What were they anticipating? Was itthe return of Eyelids that made them so expectant? During the pastfourteen days he had often caught them thus waiting and gazing, asthough stoically prepared for news of whatever kind. He suspected thatthey had some secret which they were not willing to share withhim--this would account to an extent for Peggy's reticence. But whatsecrets of importance could they have, dwelling as they did on theLast Chance? Probably Eyelids' delay was only a matter of traps andfurs which had been cached. Then, as he watched Peggy, he saw a lookpartly of fear, partly of bewilderment, spread over her face. Sheglanced down to her father; he was still gazing in the same direction, towards the bend, and she, seeing him rise to his feet and wave hishand, following his example, also rose up and waved. Granger was onhis feet immediately, that so he might see more clearly; turning hiseyes down-river, he watched steadfastly in the direction in which thefather and daughter gazed. He saw nothing that was not customary; itseemed to him that he must have looked too late. 

"What is it, Peggy?" he broke out. 

She swung round slowly, giving herself time to make her faceexpressionless; it was evident that she had forgotten his presence inher excitement. 

"Nothing, " she said, and turning about, passed into the darkness ofthe house. 

Granger did not like it. When there are only three of you, one of whomis your wife, to whom you have been married only a fortnight, it isnot pleasant to be the one left out. He had thought at first that theymight be on the lookout for York boats, which might soon be expectedto pass by on their way from the House of the Crooked Creek to God'sVoice. But one does not wave his hand to a York boat which is not yetin sight. It seemed certain to him now that Eyelids was in thevicinity, signalling to them secret information, which they were eagerto keep from himself. Had they stumbled across the grave ofStrangeways, and wondered what it meant? A grave more or less inKeewatin does not usually trouble a living man; nevertheless, he oughtto have told them about it and have explained about Spurling. He wouldtell them his secret presently, and get them to tell him theirs inexchange. In the meanwhile, he would watch the bend. 

There was no sound of footsteps in the shack. Turning his head veryslowly, so that it could hardly be seen to turn, he could perceive theshadow of Peggy out of the tail of his eye from where he sat; she wasstanding behind the window, a little way back from the panes so thathe might not discover her, and she was also watching. If this systemof spying were to go on for long, there would soon be an end to hisdreams of freedom and marital peace at Murder Point. Already he wasinclined to revise his opinion as to what he would do, were he giventhe opportunity for escape to a becitied and more populous land. Themore he thought about it, the more certain he became that he wouldchoose to escape. A half-breed girl who was almost pure Indian in hermanners--and Peggy seemed that to him now--could never be a fittingcompanion for an educated white man. He'd been something more than afool to marry her. The entire business was a farce, from start tofinish; and then he remembered that nearly every farce ends insomeone's tragedy. 

He was interrupted in his bitterness by a shout from up-river. Whilethey had been all engaged in watching the northeast, a swift canoe, carrying two men, had stolen in from the west. It was approaching thepier; before he had time to get down, its occupants had landed andwere shaking hands with Beorn effusively, emitting low, hoarse criesof "Watchee. Watchee. "

As he descended the mound, he scanned their travelling outfit, that hemight guess their errand. They carried no cargo, nor was their canoethe broad-built, slate-coloured conveyance of the Hudson Bay Company;it was birch-bark, constructed for speed, and carried in the bow aminiature sail. They must be the bearers of a letter, or of importantverbal tidings. 

He shook hands with them in silence, nor did he ask them at once todeliver to him their message, well knowing from unhappy experiencethat to attempt to hurry an Indian is to cause him to delay. Instead, he set about doing them favours, that so they might be the morewilling to oblige him. He led the way up to his store and, displayingto them his wares, told them to choose themselves each a present. There were gaudy shawls, beflowered muslin dress-lengths, rifles, watches, clocks, suits of clothing and city head-gear, probablymisfits or the refuse of a bankrupt's stock which Wrath had boughtcheap, all of them long since out of date; there were even battereddolls and children's toys lying about mixed up with canned goods andgroceries--a miscellaneous array. Arranged along one wall were all theimplements of the trapper's trade and the articles of common use, such as kettles, pans, enamel cups and plates, coils of rope, etc. With the inborn thriftlessness of the Indian, at the articles ofessential worth they only glanced, after which they turned aside fromthem. Not until an hour had passed did one of the men make up his mindto take a top-hat for his present, broad-brimmed and dusty, from offwhich most of the silk was worn--a relic, perhaps, of the outsiderespectability with which one of the Winnipeg partners had been wontto clothe himself years since, when he went to church and still hadhopes that one day he might live to see himself an honest man. But thesecond visitor could find nothing that met with his approval; now thathis companion was owner of the top-hat, he felt that of all things, sacks of flour, rifles, sails, knives, that was the one and onlypresent which he would have chosen. Granger was losing patience, though he did not dare to show it. There were so many tidings whichthat letter, if letter it was, might contain--news concerningSpurling, Strangeways, his mother, Mordaunt. To cut his suspense shortby a few minutes he was willing to pay almost any price. Still theIndian procrastinated and seemed to be more and more inclined tobecome obstinate and offended. Transgressing the usual rule of atrading-store, he had seated himself on a pile of nets and wasstriking a match to light his pipe. 

Granger gazed round his stock in desperation, endeavouring to discoversomething, whatever its value, which would be acceptable. 

A sudden inspiration came to him. Reaching up to a shelf, he took downan oblong box, about nine inches in length, adjusted several parts ofit on the inside, wound it up with a key which was in the back, andset it on the counter. A whirring, coughing noise was heard, as thougha creature hidden inside was clearing its throat to prevent itselffrom choking; after a few seconds of this, a voice, so thin andwhispering that it seemed impossible that it should ever have comefrom a person who owned a chest, commenced to sing with an atrociousperversion of the vowels, "Sife in the h'arms of Jesus, Sife on 'is gentle breast, There by 'is love o'ershadowed Sweetly my soul shall rest. "

He cut it short at the end of one verse, for he could endure no moreof that--the tears were in his eyes. Ugly as the dialect was in itselfand often as it had revolted him in former days, there was somethinghauntingly pathetic about it when combined with religion, and sung inKeewatin by that weakling voice; the London voice, shut up in themildewed box, was an exile like himself. When he was a child, he hadheard his mother sing those words, and that was at a time when hebelieved in the faith which they expressed. For him there was now noovershadowing God--only a careless, and perhaps unconscious, tyrant. 

But he had accomplished his purpose, for the Indian was won over andbeaming with pleasure. Gramo-phones had not been long introduced intothe district as articles of trade; as yet only the chiefs and mostsuccessful trappers could purchase them. To own one was equivalent tokeeping a butler in civilisation. Seeing the greed in the man's eyes, he told him that he could have it so soon as he had declared hisbusiness and delivered his message. 

This promise caused the oracle to work. Diving his hand beneath hisshirt, the Indian drew forth a pouch which was slung about his neck, and, opening it, produced from it a letter. Then snatching up hisplay-thing, he and his companion, proud in his top-hat, went outsideto build their fire, and to make their camp, leaving the trader tohimself. 

Granger rose up and made fast the door behind them, so that he mightbe undisturbed. Now that he held within his hand the solution to theproblem of their visit, he was willing to postpone the fullerknowledge lest it should make him sad. Sitting himself down on theedge of the counter he drew forth his pipe and filled it slowly; andwhen that was done, still more slowly commenced searching for a match, found it at last and kindled the tobacco. He looked at the address; itwas in Wrath's handwriting, but the envelope bore no stamp--it hadevidently been sent up by him in haste over the entire six hundred andeighty miles by private carrier. That meant that the news wasimportant, for such means of transit were expensive. Breaking theseal, he found a letter enclosed, which had been addressed to him incare of Wrath; it also was unstamped, but it bore in the left-handcorner the name of his mother's firm of London solicitors. About itwas folded a note from Wrath himself, which read:

 DEAR GRANGER, The enclosed letter arrived here by yesterday's mail. It was accompanied by a letter to myself from some London lawyers, urging me to deliver it into your hands in the quickest possible time, regardless of expense. Carrying out my instructions, I am sending it up to you by private messengers; heaven knows how long it would take to get to you, were I to send it any other way. Of course I shall dock the cost of its transit from your salary, which means that if you don't have a good year's trade, I sha'n't have much to pay you. 

 Yours, CHARLES E. WRATH. 

His mother's lawyers! That meant that his mother had relented, and wasanxious to have him home again. His heart leapt at the thought--andthen he remembered that there were Peggy and the death of Strangewaysas obstacles to his return. 

He undid the wrapping of the lawyer's letter and, as he read, theblood went from his face. It was to tell him, in formal language, thathis mother was dead, and that, if he would fulfil certain conditions, he was to become heir to the property which she had left. The estatewas valued at fifteen thousand pounds. The conditions were, that hewas to return to England within four months from the writing of thisletter, and take up his permanent residence there. If for any reasonhe should be unwilling or unable to agree to these terms, the moneywas to be divided among certain charities which his mother had namedin her will. That was all. So the chance for which he had waited hadcome at last, and he was unable to take it--and his mother was dead!

He sat very still and motionless. The flies drummed against thepanes--they also were captives. Outside, across the river, thewhippoorwill continued to cry, demanding entrance into Beorn's bodybecause it was his soul. Peggy came to the door, tried to open it, rattled the latch and announced that the meal was ready: he took nonotice of her, and presently she went away. For hours he sat like aman of stone, making no pretence at thinking; of one fact only was heaware, that with both hands, for the want of a little patience, he hadthrown away all his chances of return. He was lost--lost--lost. 

As the hours dragged by the flies grew tired of trying to escape, andthe whippoorwill of calling; the whole world fell silent. He wishedthat the darkness might come, so that he might hide himself; but inJune time, on the Last Chance River, it is never utterly night. Whenthe sun has sunk from the sky the sunset lingers, gradually workinground toward the dawn; through the summer months, as if to make amendsfor the long dark winter days, it always leaves a little torch ofpromise burning somewhere along the horizon. The perpetual brightnessof the world outside seemed to jeer him; it was as careless in its wayas the winter had been of the solitariness of his soul. 

But at last the shadows lengthened in the store, and through thedusty, cobwebbed window he could see that the sky had grown indigo andgrey. So his mother was dead, and he would never look on her again. They had not understood one another, and now, with whatever longing hemight desire it, he could never explain. He had abandoned her for thesake of his father's quest, that he might seek out El Dorado--and thiswas the wage of his sacrifice, thirty, perhaps forty long years oflife at Murder Point, shared in the company of a squaw, a hurriedburial one day, and an unnoticed grave. 

He could not accept the conditions set forth in the lawyer's letterand return to London in the two months which remained--there were theMounted Police to prevent him, and there was Peggy. He had chosen hisown path in life, and he must follow it without complaint to thebitter end. He tried to think himself back into the opinion of themorning, when he had fancied that he preferred the Last Chance Riverto any other place. He could not think that now; he knew that it wasno more than a consoling lie. Then he ceased to think and grew drowsy. 

He was aroused by the faint and far-away sound of singing. The duskhad gathered and it must be nearing midnight. He was stiff fromsitting so long in a cramped position; he rose to his feet and rubbedhis eyes. The window was ruddy with the shifting light of the Indians'camp-fire; occasionally, when the flame shot up, its brightness stoleacross the ceiling and illumined the walls of the store. He listened;the tune that was sung seemed to him familiar and puzzled him, for hewas not fully awake. Drifting through the stillness of the northerntwilight, at an hour when even the beasts of the forests held theirbreath because of God's nearness and His solemnity, there reached hisears the vulgar strutting tones of a music-hall singer's voice:

 "As I walked through Leicester Square With my most magnificent air, You should hear the girls declare 'Why, he's a millionaire;' And they turn around and sigh, And they wink the other eye, 'He's the man that broke the bank at Monte Carlo. '"

The coarse suggestiveness of the words, the cheap passions which theyimplied, the leer and pomposity with which they had been uttered bythe comedian, the unhealthy, narrow-chested, pavement-bred audienceby which the effort had been greeted with applause, the totaluncleanness and unnaturalness of city-life, came vividly home to him. 

He did not stop to reason, or to trace his repugnance to itssource--to his native hostility to the impurity and strengthlessnessof multitudes of creatures who arrogantly boast that they arecivilised--he was too angry for that. He was only conscious that avain and impertinent echo of the town had, by his instrumentality, found its way into and vilified the secret refuge of God's austerity. Tearing back the bolts from the storehouse door and lifting the latch, he rushed out into the cool half-light. 

Half-way between himself and the pier he saw the Indians' camp-fire, with four figures squatting round, two of which were Peggy's andBeorn's. Running down the descent, he burst into their midst, seizedthe offending gramophone and crushed it down with his heel into theflames. His foot was scorched, but he did not care for that. When hiswork was accomplished, turning savagely upon his spectators he said, "I'll teach you to offend God's silence, " and strode away, leavingthem staring after him through the shadows, terrified and amazed. Suddenly he returned; there was a gentler look upon his face. Going upto where Peggy sat, he took her by the hand, and, without a word, ledher out of the circle of firelight towards the shack. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE DEAD SOUL SPEAKS OUT

The Man with the Dead Soul was drunk, heartily and shamelessly drunk;Granger, the contriver of his condition, sat facing him, impatientlywaiting to see whether that was true which the Indians said, that, when drink had subdued his body, his soul returned for a little space. 

The nominal occasion of the carousal was the home-coming of Eyelidsand, as Granger had subtly put it, "the celebration of his ownentrance into the family of Ericsen. " However, in a country from whichthere is no means of escape, save through the magic doors ofimagination, and where men get so bored with themselves, and theirenvironment, and one another, that they are willing to seek atemporary release by drinking such noxious drugs as pain-killer, essence of ginger, of peppermint, etc. , for the sake of the alcoholwhich they contain, the only excuse necessary for intoxication isopportunity. Spirits of any kind are strictly forbidden in Keewatin, that the Indians may be protected from intemperance; nevertheless, despite all precautions of the Mounted Police, a certain quantityfinds its way up in disguised forms, or smuggled in sacks of flour andbales of traders' merchandise. 

Granger, being well aware that the fool says with his lips what thewise man knows in his heart, had determined that both the menfolk ofhis adopted house should play the fool that night. Whatever Beorn andEyelids might do or say, and however intoxicated they might become, hehad planned for himself that he would keep quite sober, with his witsabout him, that he might recall next day what they had done and saidwhen thus taken off their guard. There were two problems which he wasanxious to solve; the first, the reason for his brother-in-law's longdelay; the second, what it was that they watched for with sucheagerness, and waved to at the bend. 

The latter problem had become still more perplexing since Eyelids'return that morning, for in the afternoon, when they were sittingtogether outside the shack, he also had seen something down-river, and, following his father's and sister's example, had risen to hisfeet, commenced to wave, and, when it had disappeared, had inquired, "Who was that fellow?" Straightway Beorn had scowled him into silence, and Peggy, leaning over, had whispered some words in a Cree-dialect, which Granger did not understand; whereupon an expression of fear andwonder had come into Eyelids' face. When Granger, having taken himapart, had asked him for an explanation, he had only shaken his headstupidly, saying that he must have been mistaken, and that there wasnothing there. This was manifestly false, for during all the remainingportion of the daylight his eyes had kept continually furtivelyreturning down-river towards the bend. 

The fact that he also had seen something, did away with Granger'ssupposition that it was to her brother, lurking in the vicinity, thatPeggy had signalled with her hand--and made him the more curious toknow the real cause. Could it be Spurling, he wondered, who had madea compact with them and lay in hiding there? If that was so, then whathad been the reason of Eyelids' delay, --for he had not stayed tocollect any caches of furs, but had come back empty-handed, walking bythe river-bank. He had watched to see whether anyone had put out fromthe store to leave provisions at the bend; but no one had been there, unless at a time when he slept. His passion to share the secret hadbecome all-consuming, as curiosity must when it works in the mind of alonely man. To this end he had shadowed Eyelids all that day, givinghim no opportunity for private talk with his family, and, finally, hadprepared this trap of a drinking-bout, hoping that someone mightcommit himself. As yet he had this to his advantage, that thehalf-breed, though he had witnessed the signals, was almost asignorant as himself as to their real purport, and was therefore, probably, just as curious. 

They were sitting in a room, empty and comfortless, which was built onto the end of the oblong which comprised the store. Its walls weredamp, and the news-papers, with which they had been covered, saggeddown from the boards like monstrous goitres. It had one window, whichlooked riverwards, across whose panes, dust and cobweb smirched, amuslin curtain had been hung by a previous agent, who was reputed tohave drunk himself to death. This was its only attempt at decoration, save for a faded photo of a girl attired in early Victorian dress, across the right-hand corner of which was scrawled, "Yours, with love, from Gertrude. " She looked a good girl, and Granger felt sorry for herbecause, by the ordinary laws of nature, she had probably been deadfor many years; and he also felt sorry for her because he was certainthat the man who had placed her picture there had gone away anddisappointed her in her love. 

Perhaps he had been the agent who, sitting there night after night, gazing upon her portrait, torturing himself with memories of thehappiness which he had lost, had drunk himself to death. If that wasso, she had had her revenge. Going closer, he saw that thephotographer's name was recorded there, "Joseph Dean, New Bedford, Mass. " So she had been a New Englander, and her lover, whoever he was, had probably started life as a sailor in the whaling fleet which atthat time set out annually from New Bedford for the North. In Keewatinthe memories of men for their neighbours, especially if they happen tobe private traders, are very short. 

The room contained little furniture. There was a wooden shelf, knockedtogether out of packing-cases, which ran along one side of the walland had probably done service as a bed. There was an upturned box, onwhich a man might seat himself; and a low three-legged stool whichwould serve as a table--that was all. In imitation of the no morelavish accommodation set apart for single men at the Hudson BayCompany's forts, the room was commonly known as Bachelors' Hall. Thedoor was fast-shut; the curtain was half-drawn before the window, shutting out the long-tarrying June twilight; the three men had beenthere together for four hours, and as yet nothing of importance hadtranspired, and no word had been spoken. 

Eyelids, with his lashless lids (hence his sobriquet) half-closed, squatted on the floor, Indian fashion, directing his pipe to his mouthwith uncertain hand. The other hand fumbled continually in hisbreast, as if he kept something hidden there. Granger wondered what itwas. 

Beorn sprawled his great length of legs along the shelf, his back andhead resting against the wall. His eyes were very bright, and a longand ugly scar, which extended from the right of his forehead to hislower jaw, and which Granger did not remember to have noticed before, showed swollen and red through the tangled mass of his grey beard. Hispipe also was in his mouth, but his hand was still steady. Under theinfluence of drink a new intentness had come into his face, all hisfeatures seemed to be more keen and pointed. Every now and again hewould remove his pipe, as if he were about to break into speech; then, either through laziness or from the tyranny of his habitual caution, he would replace it and, as it seemed to Granger, relapse intomemories. He watched him closely, and he thought he saw the elation ofold successes, and emotions of forgotten defeats, flit across hiscountenance. Granger himself was quite sober, having only pretended todrink; if he sat a trifle huddled on his box and lurched unsteadily, it was only that he might keep his companions unsuspicious. 

On the crazy little stool between them stood a candle from which thewax occasionally dripped, so that for a moment the flame would diedown, causing the shadows to shorten. A jam-jar did service as atumbler; there was one between the three of them, which meant thatthey had to drink quickly in order not to keep the next man waiting. Granger served out the whisky, and he served it neat--when men areintent on getting drunk they do not procrastinate by adding water. 

Eyelids was getting more and more peaceful and foolish, smiling firstto himself and then slily to Granger, as though he had some very happyknowledge which he was burning to communicate. At last he pulled outhis hand from his shirt, and there was something in it. Beorn, raisedthree feet from the floor on his shelf, could not see what his son wasdoing, nor did he care; he was reliving the past, when there was noEyelids. 

But Granger watched; the fingers opened a trifle and revealed theshining of something yellow. Quick as thought, before the fingerscould close over it again, he pretended to lose his balance, and, shooting out his foot as if to save himself, sent the yellow lumpflying from the half-breed's palm. It shot into the air, fell with athud, and rolled scintillating into the darkness across the boardedfloor. Before he could be detained, Granger had sprung after it andheld it in his hand. He faced round, ready to defend himself; butthere was no necessity. Eyelids, having attempted to rise and havingfound that his legs would not carry him, had sunk back to hissquatting position on the floor, where he was smiling foolishly andnodding his head as much as to say, "I've been telling you allevening, but you would not believe me; now I have proved my word!"

Beorn was sitting upright on his shelf, looking at him keenly. AsGranger approached, he held out his hand; Granger placed the yellowlump in it. 

"Gold, " he cried, and his eyes flashed; "a river nugget!" Thenweighing it carefully, "Three ounces, " he said; "it's worth aboutforty dollars. "

"How do you know that?" asked Granger. "Was it river gold that youfound on the Comstock? I thought that it was quartz. "

"It was quartz afterwards, but nuggets and dust first. " Then, remembering himself, he asked suspiciously, "But what d'you know aboutit?"

"I ought to know something, " Granger replied, speaking thickly andshamming intoxication; "I ought to know something; I was one of thefirst men in on the Klondike gold-rush. "

"Damn it! So you were one of the Klondike men? Tell me about it. "

Granger had intended to spin him a yarn about great bonanzas in Yukon, which he had discovered. It was to have been a hard-luck tale ofclaims which had been stolen, and claims which had been jumped, andclaims which had been given away for a few pounds of flour or slicesof bacon in crises of starvation; but in the presence of the old man'seagerness, and with the shining nugget of temptation between them, hedrifted unconsciously into straight talk and told him his own truestory. 

At first, while he was feeling his way, he gave the history of BobbieHenderson, and Siwash George, and Skookum Jim, the real discoverers ofthe Klondike; and of how Bobbie Henderson was done out of his share, so that he still remained a poor man and prospector when others, whohad come into the Yukon years later, had worked their claims, grownwealthy, and departed. Then he recited the Iliad of the stampede fromForty-Mile, when the rumour had spread abroad that Siwash George hadfound two-dollars-fifty to the pan at the creek which he had named"Bonanza"; how drunken men were thrown into open boats, and men whorefused to credit the report were bound hand and foot with ropes bytheir friends and compelled to go along, lest they should lose thechance of a lifetime; and how, where to-day Forty-Mile had been anoisy town, to-morrow it was silent and deserted, with none left savea few old men and sickly women to tell the story. 

To all of this Beorn listened with small attention, for he keptmuttering to himself, "But how did he know that there was gold there?How did he discover it?" Granger wondered to whom he was referring--tohis own son, to Siwash George, or to someone else; but he dared notask him a leading question lest his suspicion should be aroused. Hewent on with his narration feverishly, forgetting in his excitementhis resolution to keep sober, emptying the tumbler of whiskyrecklessly, turn and turn about with his companion, waiting andwatching to see whether, in the Indian phrase, the dead soul wouldreturn. When he commenced to speak of himself, of his passage fromSkaguay to Dawson, of the wealth which he found and lost at Drunkman'sShallows, and of his flight, Beorn became interested; his eyes blazedand every few seconds he would give him encouragement, ejaculatinghoarsely, "Go on. Go on. "

So he carried his history to an end with a rush, for now he knew thatthe dead soul had come back. He finished with the sentence, "And thenI went to Wrath, for I was nearly starving. 'For God's sake, man, giveme some employment, ' I said. 'I can't steal; they'd put me in gaol forthat, and so I should disgrace my mother. And I can't cut throats forbread, for then I should get hanged. But, if I have to endure thisagony much longer, I shall do both. ' And his reply was to send me uphere, to this ice-cold hell of snow and silence, to mind his store andwatch the Last Chance River flowing on and on, until the day of mydeath. God curse the reptile and his charity. "

The Man with the Dead Soul turned his head aside and there was silencefor a moment. Then, bending down and having assured himself thatEyelids was asleep. "I've known all that, " he said; "but, unlike you, I did more 'an intend--I killed my man. I guess you an' I are o' onefamily now, so there's no harm in tellin'. I don't just remember whoyou are, nor how we happen to be here this night; but you placed thatgold in my hand, so I reckon you're all right. You ain't a Mormon, areyou?" he asked abruptly. 

Granger, taken aback by the question, smiled slowly and shook hishead. 

"Well, then, I'd have you to know, " Beorn continued, "that I wasbrought up in the Mormon faith. One o' the earliest memories I have iso' the massacre o' the Latter-Day Saints at Gallatin, when GovernorBoggs issued his order that we should be exterminated an' driven out. I can still see the soldiery ridin' up an' down, pillagin' our city, insultin' our womenfolk, an' cuttin' down our men. I can just rememberthe misery o' the winter through which we fled, an' the tightness o'my mother's arms about me as we crossed the Mississippi, goin' intoIllinois for safety. From my earliest childhood my mind has bin madeaccustomed to travellin's, an' privations, an' deeds o' blood. That'sthe sort o' man I am. 

"It was six years after the Gallatin affair, when our city o' Nauvoohad been founded, that the mob once more rose agin us an' murdered ourprophets, an' placed our lives in danger. Again we fled, crossin' theMississippi on the ice, till we gained a breathin' space at CouncilBluffs. A year after that, under Brigham Young, we passed through theRockies to the Great Salt Lake an' came to rest. All this persecootioncaused our people to become a hard an' bitter race; but I'd have beentrue to 'em if it hadn't bin for my mother, an' the manner o' herdeath. How did she die? Don't ask me, for I can't tell you. She was aSwede, a kind o' white slave, who was kept with several other women bymy father. She went out one day, an' never came back. I believe she'dgot heartsick, an' was plannin' t' escape with a feller o' her ownnationality, a newcomer. Anyhow, when I asked my father about her, hethreatened me into silence. He was a priest o' the order o'Melchizedek, a powerful man among the prophets. From that hour I hatedMormonism, an' determined t' escape whenever my chance occurred. Itcame sooner 'an I expected. 

"The Californian gold-rush had robbed the Saints o' the seaboard towhich they was hopin' to lay claim. They began to get nervous lest thesouthern territories, from Salt Lake to the Mexican frontier, mightalso be lost to 'em if they didn't do something so they organised theState of Deseret, an' sent out expeditions to take it up before itcould fall into the Gentiles' hands. My father, I believe, had grown'fraid o' me, lest I should take his life; so he had me included inthe first expedition, which consisted o' eighty men, an' was sent togarrison a Mormon station in Carson Valley, Nevada. 

"I've allaws had a nose for gold, an' we hadn't bin there a monthbefore I'd discovered an' washed out a little dust from a neighbourin'gulch. I kept my secret to myself, an' when I'd gathered enough, bought provisions, stole a horse, an' ran away, escapin' over theSierras into California, where I hoped that the Mormons, an'especially my father, would lose all trace o' me an' give me up fordead. For eight years I drifted along the coast from camp to camp, but didn't have much luck. I even went so far south as Mexico, where Ilaboured in the silver mines an' learned the Mexican method o'crushin' quartz with arrastras. 

"All this time I was haunted by the memory o' the gold which I'dwashed out in Carson Valley; the more I thought about it, the morecertain I was that untold riches lay buried there. However, I wasfearful to return, lest I should fall into the clutches o' thepriesthood o' Melchizedek or o' the spies o' Brigham Young. I was anapostate, an' my father was my enemy; I knew that, should I once berecovered by the Mormons, no mercy would be shown me. At last the newscame that the struggle o' the Saints for possession o' Nevada had beengiven up, an' that messengers had bin sent out from Salt Lake biddin'all emigrants return. For eight years I'd bin unmolested; I thoughtthat I'd bin forgotten, an' that it was safe to turn my stepseastward. 

"I travelled day an' night to get back to my first discovery; I wastortured wi' the thought that before I got there someone might haverediscovered it, an' have staked it out. I'd crossed the Sierras, an'was within a two-days' journey o' my destination, when I came to alonely valley as the sun was settin', an' there I camped. The placelooked God-forsaken; there was nothin' in sight but rocks, an' sand, an' sage-brush. I lit my fire, an' tethered my horse, an', beingdog-tired, was soon asleep. Suddenly I woke up, an' was conscious o'footsteps goin' stealthily, away from me into the darkness. I jumpedto my feet an' seized my gun; but my eyes were dazed with sleep an'firelight so that I could see nothin'. I ran out into the shadows, followin' the footsteps, but, before I could come up with 'em, theirsound had changed to that o' a horse, gallopin' northward, growin'fainter and fainter. 

"I returned to my camp an' examined my baggage; nothin' was missin', not even the gold which I'd carried--all seemed safe. I sat up an'watched till daybreak, an', havin' snatched a hasty breakfast, commenced t' pack my animal. Then it was that I discovered, slippedbeneath a strap o' my saddle, a sheet o' paper. Unfoldin' it, I sawthat it was scrawled over in a rude an' almost unreadable hand. Thiswas what it said, 'This demand of ours shall remain uncancelled, an'shall be to you as was the Ark o' God among the Philistines. Unlessyou return to your father's house an' to the people o' your father'sfaith, you shall be visited by the Lord o' Hosts wi' thunder an' wi'earthquakes, wi' floods, wi' pestilence, wi' famine, an' wi'bloodshed, until the day of your death, when your name shall not beknown among men. '

"I was seized with panic, for then I knew that the spies o' Mormon hadtraced me. But I wouldn't turn back, for I knew that the treasure forwhich I had waited, as Jacob waited for Rachel, lay straight ahead. SoI rode forward, tremblin' as I went, carryin' my gun in my hand. Atthe end o' the second day I came t' Johntown, an' found that manythings had changed since I had left. There were a dozen shanties inthe town; these were occupied wi' gamblers, storekeepers, an'liquor-sellers, includin' two white women an' Sarah Winnemucca, thePiute princess. But the placer-miners had been at work, an' thegulches were dotted with the tents an' dugouts o' men who haddiscovered my secret for themselves. Thomas Paige Comstock was in thegang, the man who gave his name to the first great strike. Theycalled 'im Old Pancake, 'cause he was too busy searchin' for gold tobake bread. Even at that time, as wi' spoon in hand he stirred thepancake batter, he kept his eyes on the crest o' some distant peak, an' was lost in dreams o' avarice. 

"I hadn't bin there long before I took up wi' a feller named PeterO'Riley, an' we became pards. We determined to try our luck in theWalker River Mountains, where some new placers had bin started; but wehadn't got the money, so we agreed t' work a claim in Six-Mile Canontill we'd taken out enough dust t' pay for an outfit. We dug a trenchstraight up the hillside, by Old Man Caldwell's Spring, through blueclay an' a yellowish kind o' gravel. But the spring wasted down theslope, so we stopped work on the trench an' commenced to sink a pit tocollect the water an' make a reservoir. We hadn't sunk more 'an fourfeet when we struck a darker an' heavier soil, which sparkled as weshovelled it above ground. We washed out a panful, an' found that thebottom was fairly covered in gold. This was the top o' the famousOphir, had we only known it. We jumped to our feet an' shouted, for itwas the richest placer that had as yet bin found. We gave up ournotion o' the Walker River, an' I began to laugh int' myself at theMormon threat, that I should suffer from all the plagues o' Egypt, an'die an unknown man. We were rich--rich--rich. 

"Just as we were finishin' our day's work, Old Pancake rides up. He'dbin lookin' for a mustang that he'd lost, an' came gallopin' over theridge, with his long legs brushin' the sage tops. We tried to hide ourdiscovery, but his eyes were too sharp for that. He saw the gold fromour last clean-up glistenin' in the bottom o' the pan, as the sunsetlit on it. 'You've struck it, boys, ' he cried. 

"Jumpin' from his horse, he went down into the pit t' examine forhisself. He stayed down there some time; when he come up his face wasgrave. He'd done a lot of thinkin' in a very short while. He sat downon the hillside, an' was silent for so long that we began to suspectthere was somethin' up. 

"At last he said, 'Now, see here, boys, this spring was old manCaldwell's. I an' Manny Penrod bought his claim last winter, an' wesold a tenth to Old Virginia th' other day. If you two fellers'll letManny an' myself in on equal shares, it's all right; if not, it's allwrong. '

"We were a bit afraid o' Old Pancake; he'd bin longer in the district'an we had. We didn't think to doubt his word, though, as weafterwards discovered, every word that he spoke was false. Anyhow, after a lot 'o argiment, we agreed to let him an' Manny Penrod in onthe terms which he'd suggested. That was the beginnin' o' the Johntowngold-rush, an' I, for the second time, was one o' the discoverers. Atfirst we named the place Pleasant Hill Camp, an' I can tell you it wasmighty pleasant to be takin' out a thousand dollars a day per man. Butlater, when a city commenced t' spring up, it was necessary t' findsome other name. We quarrelled a good deal about what we'd call it;but one night, when Old Virginia was goin' home with the boys drunk, carryin' a bottle o' whisky in 'is hand, he stumbled as he reached hiscabin, an' the bottle fell an' was broke. Risin' to his knees, withthe neck o' the bottle held fast in 'is hand, he coughed out, 'Ibaptise this ground Virginia town. ' An' so Virginia town, which wasafterwards changed t' city, the handful o' shanties was named. 

"For all that my prospects were lookin' so rosy, I was really havin'bad luck. Day after day, I was throwin' away wagon-loads o' 'bluestuff, ' as all th' other miners were doin', an' as those who had gonebefore us had done--we damned it, an' didn't know its value. A monthafter I'd sold out, a feller had some o' it assayed, an' it was foundto be worth nearly seven thousand dollars in gold an' silver per ton. 

"I guess that curse o' the Mormons was more powerful 'an it seemed atfirst sight--it's followed me through life an' ruined all the men withwhom I've come in touch. Old Virginia was thrown from his horse, an'killed while drunk. O'Riley sold out his share for forty thousanddollars, the bulk o' which he spent in wildcat speculations, so that, what wi' disappointment an' loss, he finished out his days in amadhouse. Penrod sold for eight thousand, an' soon spent everything hehad. Old Pancake sold for eleven thousand, an' lost every dollar. Then, gettin' sick o' seein' other fellers grow rich out o' what hadbin his, he wandered off prospecting an' blew out his brains wi' hisown gun in the mountains o' Montana. A chap named Hansard, one o' ourfirst millionaires, died a pauper an' was buried at the publicexpense. As for myself, you can see what I've become--the Man wi' theDead Soul. "

He paused, and looked round at Granger. "_The Man wi' the Dead Soul_, "he repeated, "that's what I am. When I die, my name will not be knownamong men. "

"I don't suppose there's any of us'll be remembered long, " saidGranger. "There's a man out there on the bend; I was at Oxford withhim. He was one of the finest oars that England ever had. The paperswere full of him once. A sporting edition never came out but . . . "

He was interrupted. "Pass the whisky, " Beorn said; "if we're goin' tobe forgot, it don't much matter what we do or have done; an' we may aswell forget. "

He swallowed the spirit greedily at one quick gulp. "Where'd I got to?Oh, yes, I'd sold out my claim for money down, an' made a fool o'myself. You see I thought that my find was a gash-vein an' would soonpeter out, an' that I was doin' somethin' mighty clever to sell atall. Instead o' which, I'd only skimmed the surface an' hadn't gonedeep enough. The men who bought from us sank down till they came tothe main lode, an' then there was the discovery o' what that 'bluestuff, ' which we'd bin throwin' away, was really worth; from them twocauses came the Washoe gold-rush. You never saw anythin' like that, not even in the Klondike. It was maddenin' for me to stand by an'watch these men, who'd come from a thousand miles east an' west, justt' handle the pickin's o' the wealth which I had once possessed an'hadn't had the sense to know about. They lived in tents, an' huts, an'holes in the hillsides, an' paid seventy-five cents for a pound o'flour, in the hopes that, when the summer 'ad come, they might get achance to prospect. 

"Before winter 'ad gone, they was leadin' strings o' mules across themountains, on blankets spread above the snow, that they might getprovisions in an' prevent us from starvin'. An' I, the feller asthey'd come to rob, had to sit still an' watch it all. 

"Before the roads were fit for travel, all the world was journeyin'towards us. There were Irishmen, pushin' wheelbarrows; an' Mexicanswith burros; an' German miners, an' French, an' English, an' Swedes, ploddin' through the mud across the Sierras with their tools upontheir backs; there were organ-grinders an' Jew pedlars, an' womendressed as men, all comin' to Virginia City to claim the gold which I'ad lost. I sat every day idly watchin' their approach, an' I hatedthem. I'd begun to believe in the Mormon's curse, an' to let thingsslide. There didn't seem to be much sense in stakin' out a newclaim--if I made another fortune, I felt certain that I'd surely loseit all. 

"Along wi' the adventurers an' prospectors came desperadoes, whointended to make their fortune at the gun's point, by shootin'straight! There was the Tombstone Terror, an' the Bad Man from Bodie, an' Sam Brown, the greatest bully o' them all. One night a half-wittedfeller asked him how many men he'd chopped. 'Ninety-nine, ' says Sam, 'an' you're the hundredth. ' He seizes him by the neck an' rips him topieces wi' his bowie-knife. Then he lay down an' went to sleep on thebilliard table, while the father gathered up what remained o' his sonfrom the floor. 

"An' there was El Dorado Johnny, who, whenever he was goin' to shoot aman, bought a new suit o' clothes an' had a shave, an' got his haircut an' his boots polished so that, in case there was any mistake, hemight make a handsome corpse. These were some o' the men that I livedamong, an', like God, I said nothin' to any of 'em, but watched an'was interested in 'em all. 

"I suppose I enjoyed myself, for I couldn't help laughin' quietly attheir expense. 'What went ye out for to seek?' I would ask as, sittin'by the outskirts o' the town, I saw this army o' men an' womenstruggle in from the mountain trail. An' then I'd answer myself, 'Wehave come that we may dig out gold, that others may take it from us. We have come to exchange our health an' hope for disease an'disappointment. We have come to gain all the world, which we shall notgain--an' to lose our own souls. '

"I tell you, it's mighty strange to think o' where all the gold, whichthose brave chaps o' the Old Virginia days dug out, has gone. Some o'it's been made into a necklace t' hang about a lady's throat; and someo' it's gone to Rome t' gild a cross; and some o' it's been made intoa weddin' ring that a young girl might get married. I don't supposethe folk in the old lands ever think of how far the gold which theywear has travelled, nor how many have died in its gettin'. Some, which'as bin made into a watch and goes to the city every day, may havecome from King Solomon's mines in ships o' Tarshish; an' the king mayhave worn it hisself in his temple, or have given it away to thedark-skinned girl that he wrote that song about. 

"When I thought o' these things in Old Virginia, it made me sort o'happy, so that I didn't mind what the Mormons 'ad said. Time seemed soendless, an' life so short, that I didn't seem called on to worrymyself--only t' watch. If I found a new claim which panned out rich, Ididn't work it myself; for I knew that, though I seemed lucky, Ishould end unlucky. An' I didn't tell anyone else about it; an' ifthey found it out for theirselves, I was angry. I'd found the Ophir, an' hadn't made anythin' out o' it--that was a big enough present forone man to make to his world. 

"So I just looked on, an' saw the fools rushin' in who expected topile up fortunes. And I saw the camels comin' in an' out, carryin'salt to Virginia from the desert. They'd bin brought from Asia, an' Icould see that they felt as I felt, an' despised the greed an' hurryo' what was goin' on. Later some of 'em got so disgusted that theyescaped from their drivers--at that time they was bein' used inArizona t' carry ore. I've often smiled when I've fancied the terroro' some lone prospector, should one o' them long-legged brutes poke uphis nose above a ridge where gold had just been found, and sniffscornfully down on the feller. Some o' them camels may be still livin'an' doin' it at this very minute. "

Beorn opened his jaws wide and laughed. Granger had never heard himlaugh before, and the sound was not pleasant. There was nothing ofmirth about the man or in anything that he said--there was onlydisappointment and scorn. His bitterness became horrible when hepretended to be merry. "He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh;the Lord shall have them in derision. " It was like the thunderousscoffing of the Lord God of the Hebrews. 

The candle had gone out, and the eerie light of the northland dawn, drifting into the room through the little space of window that wasuncovered, made him and his companion look old and comfortless. But hewas anxious to hear the last of the story before the soul departed, sohe said, "And how was it that you left the Comstock Mines and cameinto Keewatin?"

"I told you that I'd done what you intended, that I killed a man. Idid more 'an that, I killed many. You see, at that time there was noproper minin' law in America; so when men got t'quarrellin', theysoon took t' fightin'. So long as the Comstock was onlyplacer-minin', we knew what we were about, an' there was notrespassin', but when we took t' tunnelling', it wasn't long before wewas borin' under one another's ledges. The Comstock veins, startin'near the surface, dipped toward the west, an' therefore the firstgreat conflict came with the nearest line o' claims t' the westward. The ledges here were very rich an' almost perpendicular, an' so theslopin' shafts o' the Ophir, Mexican, etc. , soon ran int' the verticalshafts on the 'middle lead. '

"The earliest case t' be tried, which I remember, was that o' theOphir against McCall. The court met in a stable, an' each side comearmed. One witness was shot at several times as he was ridin'homeward, down a ravine at nightfall. Party spirit ran too high, an'the danger o' bringin' in a unanimous verdict was too great for anyjury t' risk their lives by comin' to an agreement. There was nojustice; so there was nothin' left but to fight it out, the same aswhen nations go to war. An' what were they goin' to fight about? Ametal which was only val'able because o' its rarity--which had novalue in itself, an' couldn't help men t' godliness; one which youcouldn't make an engine out o', nor a plough, nor even a sword, because it was too soft. But in order to possess it, they was goin' totake each other's lives. I, an' every other man in that town, hadthrown away or were throwin' away our souls for a thing which wastruly worthless. 

"One night as I slept, I heard a voice callin' to me an' sayin', 'Iwill make a man more precious than gold; even a man than the goldenwedge o' Ophir. Therefore I will shake the heavens, an' the earthshall remove out o' her place, in th' wrath o' the Lord o' Hosts, an'in the day o' his fierce anger. ' I heard that voice callin' to me notonce, but several times; an' when I woke up, an' walked through thetown, an' saw the men o' the Ophir preparin' to shoot down the men o'the McCall, I could still hear the voice repeating, 'Even a man thanthe golden wedge o' Ophir. '

"I went back to my shanty, an' found my Bible, an' read it many days, never stirrin' out. I remember there was one passage that seemed toaccuse myself, an' to explain my own failure--'If I have made gold myhope, or have said to the fine gold, "Thou art my confidence"; if Irejoiced because my wealth was great, an' because mine hand had gottenmuch; if I beheld the sun when it shined, or the moon walkin' inbrightness, an' my heart hath been secretly enticed, or my mouth hathkissed my hand: this also were an iniquity to be punished by thejudge, for I should have denied the God that is above. '

"I'd done all that. When I'd looked at the sun, I'd seen gold; whenI'd looked at the moon, I'd thought of silver; an' when I'd found boththe silver an' the gold in the Ophir, by Old Man Caldwell's Spring, mymouth had kissed my own hand--an' not God's. An' what I'd done, everyone else was doin' in Virginia City; an' the Lord o' Hosts was angry, an' that was why men were killin' one another. So, when I'd sat stillan' figured it all out, I said, 'God spoke to me because I'm the oneman on the Comstock who, when he's found gold, tries to bury it; an'He spoke to me because He wants me to join with Him, an' help Him toshake the heavens. ' So out I walked, day after day, an' watched thingsgrowin' from bad to worse; an' when I'd seen all I wanted, I comehome an' read my Bible--I knew that when God had need o' me He wouldsend His messenger. 

"One night a miner come to my cabin, an' he said, 'Are you ready tofight for the Fair-Haired Annie?'

"'I'm ready, ' I said, 'but what's it all about?'

"'From a drift, a hundred feet down, ' said he, 'that we're workin' onat present, we can hear the picks o' the Bloody Thunder drawin' neareran' nearer; they'll break through to-morrer into one o' our ledges. '

"'What then?' I asked. 

"'We're goin' to have a band o' men waitin' for 'em in the dark on ourside o' the ledge, an' everyone o' those men is goin' to be armed. Themoment that the picks o' the Bloody Thunder drive through an' the wallgoes down, the men o' the Fair-Haired Annie are goin' to fire. '

"'All right, ' I said. 'I'm wi' you. I'll be there. '

"So next day I, an' twenty other men, were lowered down the shaft; an'before we saw daylight again, the Fair-Haired Annie an' the BloodyThunder had gone to war. That was the first o' the underground fightswhich took place on the Comstock. I picked my men, and paid 'em tendollars a day, an' called my gang 'The Avengers o' the Lord. ' No one'cept myself knew what that meant, but they learnt t' fear us, for wefought to the death. Often when I was waitin' in the dark, listenin'to the sound o' the rival miners comin' nearer, I would repeat tomyself the words, 'I will make a man more precious 'an gold; even aman than the golden wedge o' Ophir. ' An' when a poor chap lay dyin', Iwould say to him those words. "

"So you were sorry for the men you killed?"

"Oh, I was sorry, though that did small good to 'em. When the Lord'sbent on destroyin', He don't take much account o' persons. When thefirst born o' Egypt were slain, He killed the evil wi' thegood--served 'em all alike. But it's heart-breakin' work to be made anavenger o' the Lord. "

"But I don't understand. What was there to avenge?"

"What was there to avenge? Why, the sinfulness o' those men, who wasdiggin' out the power an' temptation to sin from the place where Godhad hidden it. He meant that it should stay there forever; but nowit'll be handed down from generation to generation, as is KingSolomon's gold, temptin' our sons' sons to lose their souls as ourswere lost. "

"And when all the fighting was done, did the soldiers get after you?"asked Granger. But Beorn's eyes were closing, and the soul wasdeparting as day returned. Already the sun was leaping above thehorizon, and the sigh of the waking forest was heard. Granger seizedhim by the arm and shook him--he had learnt only the least part ofthat which he desired to know. "Was it for that crime that you fled, till you came at last to Keewatin for safety?" he shouted. "Quick, Beorn, tell me. Why did you go to the Forbidden River?"

The eyes did not open; but, as if the soul were answering him with alast warning as it passed out of the door of the body, the lipsstirred, "Ay, man, it's terrible--the things men give for gold. "

The face had become so ashy pale that Granger bent above it, painfullylistening for the intake of the breath, to assure himself that Beornwas not dead. His clamour had aroused Eyelids; looking down towardshim, he saw that his eyes were wide and motionless, gazing towardsthe window with an expression of drunken terror. 

"What's the matter?" he asked sharply. 

The half-breed did not reply, but crouched and pointed with his hand. 

Granger, turning his head and following the direction indicated, looked towards the triangle of uncovered window-pane, and there sawthe face of a man, gazing hungrily in upon him--yet, not upon him, butupon the nugget which lay sparkling by Beorn's side upon the shelf. Itwas a face that seemed dimly familiar, but thinner and more haggard. At first it seemed to be his own face--the face of that _self_ fromwhich he had fled. Then he recognized, and knew that Spurling hadreturned. 

CHAPTER XIV

SPURLING MAKES A REQUEST

There had been a time when Granger had desired to kill Spurling, and, though latterly he had not consciously wished that he were dead, yethe resented his reappearance; his presence broke in as astorm-influence on the stoical quiet which he had attained. This manstood for so many things which had been sinful and passionate in thepast--things which it had cost him so much even to attempt to forget;things which he had promised himself that he would forget for Peggy'ssake. And now, because he had chosen to return, it seemed necessarythat he should call to mind the entire tragedy by asking the question, "When you shot that woman in the Klondike, did you know that she wasnot a man? And was she clothed in a woman's dress?"

Even though he kept silence, any hour Spurling himself might reopenthe subject by inquiring after Strangeways, as to whether he hadpursued farther, as to how he had fared, as to where he was atpresent. Granger was by no means certain that he did not already knowthat the corporal was dead. He shrank from the discomfort of playingthe accuser again; he shrank still more from making the uglyconfession that he himself was likely to be suspected of havingcommitted a kindred crime, --a confession which would tend to degradehim to the level of this man whom he affected to despise. So, fromday to day, he postponed his questions and, in the meanwhile, watchedSpurling narrowly. 

His conduct had been very curious since that morning of his arrival, when he had announced himself by playing the spy, through the windowof Bachelors' Hall, on the inhabitants of the Point. How long he hadbeen there, and how much he had heard of what the Man with the DeadSoul had had to say, kneeling outside in the semi-darkness with hisear pressed against the pane, Granger had no means of discovering. Butfrom the first it was clear to him that Spurling and Eyelids werepossessed of a common knowledge, which made them enemies. Perhaps theyhad met before near the Forbidden River, and this had been the causeof Eyelids' delay. 

Under ordinary circumstances, the mystery would soon have been sweptaside by the putting of a single interrogation; but men on the LastChance River get out of the habit of asking leading questions; intheir parsimony over words, they prefer to watch and to wait thereading of the minds of their fellows, and the secreting of their ownmotives, is almost their only pastime. So Granger watched and waited. 

In Spurling, so soon as he had been fed and cared for, he was quick todiscover a change. He had become manlier and braver--more like his oldself. He carried himself with a kind of timid pride, as though he knewhimself to be of a greater value than he was likely to be reckoned atby others; almost as though he were confident that he was possessed ofa claim to merit which, once stated, could not fail to be recognised. At the same time, there was a distressful hesitancy in his manner, notunnatural under the circumstances, of a man not sure of hisacceptability. He seemed forever on the point of declaring himself, and forever thinking better of his decision--postponing hisdeclaration to a later time. His bearing was an irritating combinationof false humility and suppressed self-assertion. 

Beorn, when he had recovered from his debauch, was as silent, absorbed, and uncompanionable as ever. He appeared to have retained nomemory of what he had said, and to be quite unconscious of Spurling'sarrival--he had become again in all things the Man with the Dead Soul. 

But with Peggy and Eyelids it was different. Half-breeds as they were, and, by reason of their Indian blood, instinctive disguisers ofemotion, their aversion for Spurling was plain. Sometimes, when hisback was turned and they thought that they were unobserved, they wouldglance swiftly up at one another, and an expression would come intotheir eyes, a small pin-point of angry fire, which betokened dangerfor the man they hated. Very strangely to Granger, since Spurling'sarrival, they had manifested a great fondness for being in his owncompany; one or other of them was never far from his side. Though heturned upon them angrily, telling them that he wished to be byhimself, they continually disobeyed and, next minute, like faithfuldogs, with apologetic faces, were to be found watching near by. Whatwas the motive of their conduct? Did they think that he was in danger, and required protecting?

But there was a graver happening which he had noticed. With Spurling'sreturn, he had thought that now certainly he had solved the mystery ofthe signalling to the bend. On the first day, however, he had foundhimself mistaken. Sitting in the doorway of his store, he had watchedthe undesired one go down to the pier, push off in a canoe, and paddledown-river for a bathe. Quarter of a mile from the bend, he had seenhim back-water, rise to his knees, gaze straight ahead in a startledmanner, and then, turning quickly about, come racing back like onepursued for his life. Looking round, he had seen that Peggy andEyelids were also witnessing these tactics, with expressions whichbetrayed their consternation. As he watched, they had raised theirhands and waved. When Spurling had landed, he had been waiting for himat the pier-head. "What was it that you saw over there?" he askedsternly. 

Spurling, being panic-stricken, had at first found difficulty inrecovering his voice. Then, "Where? What do you mean?" he had panted. 

Granger, in silence, had pointed northeasterly towards the bend. 

With a nervous laugh, though his face was bloodless, Spurling hadreplied, "Nothing. I saw nothing. I just thought that it looked a bitlonesome, . . . So I turned back. "

Gazing at him attentively, and seeing how he trembled, Granger knewthat he had not answered truly. With a shrug of his shoulders, twisting round on his heel, he had said sneeringly, "On the LastChance River we don't run away from loneliness as though the hangmanwere behind us. If we did, we should be running all the time. "

He had not stayed to see the effect of his words, but long afterwards, when he looked down to the water's edge, Spurling was still sittingthere, with his head between his hands and his body shaking. 

Early one evening, some days later, he came to him and said, "Mr. Granger, " and it sounded oddly from those lips--in the old days, evenin the beginning of their acquaintance, they had never mistered oneanother, "Mr. Granger, is there anywhere we can go to be quiet? I havesomething very private which I want to say. "

"O yes, there's the whole of Keewatin. "

"But isn't there some place where we shan't be overheard?"

"We can paddle down to the bend. There's only one man who can hear usthere--and he's in his grave. "

"Not there. Not there, " Spurling had cried, trembling with fear andexcitement. 

"Well, then, if you're so particular, you can speak with me here. "

Spurling looked round to where, at a short distance, Eyelids wasdiligently idling above a broken net. "Somewhere where we can't beoverheard, " he reiterated. At that moment Eyelids turned his head. 

This continual spying on all that he did, the reason for which hecould not comprehend, was getting on Granger's nerves; he felt that itwould be a relief to be alone, even though it meant being alone withthe man whom he had most cause to hate. However, somehow he pitied himjust now; perhaps because of the manner of his address, which hadbrought into sharp contrast their present relations with those ofother days. 

"There's the island up-river to the westward, where I keep my dogs insummer-time; if that will suit your purpose. "

Spurling showed his pleasure at the suggestion, and, hurrying hissteps, led the way down to the river-bank. Getting into a canoe, theyset out towards the west. They had not gone half a mile before theycaught the sound of paddle-strokes behind them. Turning about, theysaw that Eyelids was following. He attempted to loiter, and threw in aline as if his only intention were to fish. Granger flushed withanger. Without a word, he commenced to paddle back till they drewnearly level with the intruder, who pretended to be so engaged in hispastime as not to notice their approach. Then he cried in a voice thatwas choking with rage, "Get back to the Point, you half-breed spy. Ifyou dare to follow me again, I'll turn you out to-morrow, and you cantake your trade elsewhere. " Nor would he proceed farther on hisjourney till he had watched his brother-in-law get safe to land; then, with a twist of the paddle, he brought his own craft round, andcontinued towards the sunset. Two miles up-river, in themiddle-stream, stood a rocky island; as yet it was only a dull greyspeck in a pathway of red. 

They pushed on in silence up the straight, dark grove of mysteriousforest. Water-birds were calling in the rushes; at one point, as theypassed, a great bull caribou lifted up his head from drinking, andregarded them with a look of curiosity, totally void of fear; a herondrifted slowly over the tree-tops, and disappeared. To Granger, witheven this short distance placed between himself and his customaryassociates, there came a sense of release, and with it an instinct forkindness. As they neared the shore of the island, the huskiescommenced to howl; soon they could see them bunched together on theshore awaiting their arrival. A dog in the north, even though he hasbeen imported, is never heard to bark. To hear them at first, astranger might suppose that a woman was wearily weeping herself todeath in the forest, because of a grief which was inconsolable. Thewail of the huskies, reaching him at intervals across the expanse ofwater, seemed the voice of his own desolation, coming out to meet him. 

The whole world was empty, and he began to feel the need offriendship. He let his eyes linger on the head and shoulders of theman in front of him, and remembered with what eagerness long ago, whenawaiting his arrival at some appointed rendezvous, he had striven tocatch sight of him approaching, towering above the littler people ofthe London crowd. And now, instead of brief and chance-snatchedmoments, they were allowed to pass whole days together; yet, becauseof what had happened, they could find no pleasure in one another. Pleasure! The only sensation which he derived from Spurling's companywas one of intense annoyance. And there had been a time when, ifanyone had dared to tell him that that could ever happen, he wouldhave denied it with an oath. 

Could it be that the fault was his own, and that he had misjudged thisman? He recalled how, when he had discovered Strangeways' body at thebend, and had thought it Spurling's, he had bitterly accused himselfof all manner of unkindness. He smiled grimly at the remembrance--itwas human nature to do that. He could quite well imagine that at somefuture time, when Spurling was truly dead, he might blame himselfafresh, with an equal bitterness and an equal sincerity. It would beeasy to judge charitably of him then, for he would be beyond power ofworking any further mischief to the living. It is fear, not cruelty, which lies at the root of all uncharitableness. If apprehension wereremoved from our lives, it would be possible for the weakest man tolive well. It was the fact that, trusting in God, he took no thoughtfor the morrow, which enabled Jesus to become Christ. 

Gliding round the island, they came to a sandy cove, which faced thesunset. There they landed. Lifting the canoe a dozen paces up theshore and placing it in the scrub, where it might be out of sight, they struck into the brushwood by a narrow trail, which at oncecommenced to climb. After three minutes of travelling, they came outon to a tall bare rock, to one side of which grew a solitary pine. From there they could command a view of the river on every side. 

Granger settled himself down, with his back toward his companion, propping himself against the pine-trunk, with his face towards thefading light. The huskies gathered hungrily round in a semicircle, squatting on their haunches, wondering whether the coming of these menmeant that they were going to be fed. The frogs croaked in the river;the mosquitoes trumpetted about their heads; save for these sounds, and the continual low murmur of the river, there was absolute quiet. In this environment, his eyes upon the faery domes and fiery spires ofthe western sky, into the inmost mystery of which the Last ChanceRiver led, that torturing and old desire, which had always made itimpossible for him to enjoy the moment in its flight, again possessedhis mind: he had known it from a child, the ambition to follow, follow, follow, in the hope that somewhere, perhaps behind the settingsun, he might arrive at the land of perfectness for which he craved. 

His thoughts were disturbed somewhat brutally by a voice behind. "Still careless of your life! I see you hav'n't brought your gun withyou. How did you know that it wasn't 'Die, ' that I wanted to say?"

He turned lazily round, and was surprised at the altered expressionwhich had come into Spurling's face. It was frank and self-reliant, and, oddly enough, had a look that was almost tender. 

"What made you say that?" Granger inquired. 

Spurling drew nearer. "Well, a fellow had to say something to breakthe ice, " he replied; "so I thought I might as well give you yourchance of taking the worst impression of me. " He paused; then he askedin a low voice, "You were thinking of London and the old times?"

Granger nodded his head. 

"I've often done that; I can understand. It was torture to me in theYukon, and it was madness to me over there, " pointing with his hand tothe northward, where the Forbidden River lay. "What would you say, " headded, "if I were to tell you that it could all come back again?"

Granger's reply was quiet and calculated, so that it seemed to bequite within the bounds of courteous conversation. "I think I shouldtell you that you lied, " he said. 

"But if I should give you proof that not only the old things werepossible, but that El Dorado might come true, and that within a yearwe could seek it out together, as we have always planned to do?"

For answer Granger jerked out his foot, and sent a gaunt grey huskyflying, which had come within his range. It was one of those whichSpurling had left behind over two months ago at Murder Point, when hehad exchanged teams with Granger in his endeavour to escapeStrangeways. Spurling, when he saw it, recognised the meaning whichGranger's action implied. It was as if he had said, "So the old thingsare possible, are they, you villain? What about that man whom you saythat you killed, whose body was washed up near Forty-Mile?" He openedhis lips to explain, and then fell silent. It was impossible to excusehimself in the presence of those wolfish beasts, who had beenwitnesses to all the degradation of mind and body which had overtakenhim in that terrible escape. No man could estimate the penalty whichhe had had to pay for his moment's folly, except one who had enduredit. When he allowed his memory to dwell upon it, that frenzied rushacross half a continent seemed to have occupied all his life. Thethought of it made him afraid. 

"Good God! And my mother meant me for a minister!" he exclaimed, burying his face in his hands. 

Granger looked up suspiciously, but he said nothing. 

"No, I never told you that, " he continued fiercely, "and I suppose youdon't believe me now. Seems somehow odd to you, I daresay, that DruceSpurling should ever have thought himself worthy to talk to men abouttheir souls and Christ. You'd have thought it a good joke if I'd toldyou even when you knew me at my best. _When you knew me!_ Bah! Younever knew me; you were always a harsh judge when it came to setting avalue on things which you didn't understand. "

When Granger still kept silent and gave no sign of interest, Spurlingbroke out afresh: "Damnation! I tell you you never knew anything aboutme. You were always too selfish to take the trouble to get into otherfolks' insides; yet you went about complaining that people wereunsympathetic. Here's the difference between us; I may be a scoundrel, but whatever I've done I've played the man and never blamed anyoneelse for my crimes, while you--! You were always a weak dreamer, depending on others for your strength. You were discontented, but younever raised your littlest finger in an attempt to make men better. All you could think of was yourself, and your own ambition to escape. So though, perhaps, I've sunk to a lower level than you have evertouched, I want you to know there was once a time when I did reach upto a nobler and a better. "

Gradually, as he had spoken, there had grown into his voice aconcentrated fury. He was giving utterance to an old grievance overwhich he had brooded for many years; as happens frequently in suchcases, only a portion of his complaint could be proved by facts, theremainder being an overgrowth of embittered imagination. 

His eyes sought out the face of the man whom he accused, but it toldhim nothing; he sat there silent, with his head thrown back a little, unemotional as the distant stretch of cold grey river up which hegazed. 

The sun had vanished, and the prolonged dusk of the northland wasstealing from out the forest. At length Granger answered him: "It maybe true, and if so, what follows?"

"Oh, nothing: only I thought I'd tell you this so that one man mightnot think too badly of me, if before long I should be called upon todie. I must have looked a horrid beast when I came to you last April. "

Whether consciously or not, Granger nodded his head, as much as tosay, "You did. Most certainly you did. "

His companion broke into a harsh laugh. "The Reverend Druce Spurling!How d'you like the sound of it? That's what I might have been to-day, and a fat lot you care about it. "

To Granger, as he listened, there had come the painful knowledge, bearing out the accusation that he had never cared for the inwardthings of men, that this was the first scrap of confession whichSpurling had ever let fall in his presence. Why, up to that moment hehad not heard a word about his mother, and had certainly nevercredited him with a pronounced religious instinct. 

Yes, perhaps that statement, which had sounded so exaggerated atfirst, was true; and he was a hard and selfish man. Up to now he'dexcused himself on the score of his superior sensitiveness andideality. Probably it was this same error which Père Antoine, ingentler manner, had tried to point out, when he said, "You will neverhelp yourself, or the world, by merely being sad. No man ever has. Itis because of your flight from sadness that you have met with all yourdangers. All your life you have spent in striving to escape fromthings which are sad. " His thoughts travelled back to those earlierdays, when he'd poured out his troubles to Spurling, and told him allabout himself; and always with the assurance that he would beunderstood and would gain sympathy. John Granger as he had been then, now seemed like a complaining child to himself. He was certain that, were he to be met by that old self to-day, he would have no patiencewith him. But Spurling had had patience. 

So, when all was said and done, he must consider himself a prettyworthless fellow; and, after all, Spurling, despite his blood-stainedhands, was probably the better man. 

"Why Spurling failed to become a parson"--a strange topic for thoughtand conversation this, on the Last Chance River at nightfall!

But Spurling was speaking again, timidly and half to himself. "SupposeGod should brand a mark on our foreheads for every crime which we haveperpetrated, I wonder what kind of beasts we should appear to oneanother then?"

Turning his head, in order that his face might not be seen, Grangerreplied, "Much the same kind of beasts, I suspect, as we appear to oneanother now. " Then, speaking more hurriedly, "It wasn't to talk ofthese things, and to ask me that question, that you required me tocome with you to some place where we might be by ourselves. Tell me, what is it that you want me to do for you? You were good to me once, and I'm willing to help you in any way that is honourable, and thatisn't too dangerous. "

Spurling laughed shortly, and said, "It isn't your help that I'masking; it's you that I'm trying to help. Here, look at that. " Hepassed something to him. "I didn't act squarely by you in theKlondike, and I want to make up for it now. When we made that strikein Drunkman's Shallows, the success of it turned my head; even then, if you'd not been so impatient, I think I should have come to myselfand have behaved decently. You put my back up with your suspicions, and by seeming to claim a part of my wealth as though it were yours byright. But I'm anxious to forget that now. "

In the meanwhile, Granger had been examining the thing which had beenplaced in his hands. It was wrapped up carefully in several rags, which were knotted and tedious to untie. When he had stript them off, he found that they contained a nugget, somewhat bigger than the onewhich Eyelids had shown him, but of the same rounded formation, asthough it had been taken from a river-bed. "Where did you get it?" heasked excitedly. 

"Where the half-breed got his--from the Forbidden River. Does ElDorado seem more possible to you now?"

But Granger was thinking, and he did not answer the question. Suddenlythe dream of his life had become recoverable. He had forgotten Peggy, and Murder Point, and even Spurling himself. Once more in imaginationhe was sailing up the Great Amana, following in his father's track. Once more he saw, as in Raleigh's day, the deer come down to thewater's side, as if they were used to the keeper's call; and hewatched anxiously ahead lest, in the rounding of the latest bend, theshining city should meet his sight and the salt expanse of Parima, from whose shores its towers are said to rise. In his eyes was thevision of the island near Puna, which Lopez wrote about, with itssilver herb-gardens, and its flowers of gold, and its trees of goldand of silver; and in his ears was the tinkling music, which thesea-wind was wont to make as it swept through the metal forest, causing its branches to clang and its leaves to shake. He was far awayfrom Keewatin now, making the phantom journey to the land of hisdesire. 

"Does El Dorado seem more possible to you now?"

He turned to Spurling a face which had grown thin with earnestness, "Druce, tell me quickly, " he said, "how long will it take us to getthere?"

"To get to El Dorado? The answer to that you should know best. But toget to the place on the Forbidden River where this gold was found? Oh, about five days. "

"Let us go there at once, then, before Beorn finds us out. "

"Ah, Beorn! The old trapper who put that half-breed on my track!"

"Did he do that? Tell me about it. "

CHAPTER XV

MANITOUS AND SHADES OF THE DEPARTED

"After I had left you, I journeyed three days to the northward, till Icame to the mouth of the Forbidden River. There I found the cachewhich you spoke to me about; but I did not break into it at that time, as I was still well provided with food and ammunition. Because you hadtold me that the Forbidden River was unexplored and never visited, being haunted by Manitous and shades of the dead, I turned into it andtravelled up it--I thought that I should find safety there. 

"On the second day, just as evening was falling, I saw the flare of acamp-fire, about two miles ahead. You'll remember that my nerves werebadly shaken when I came to you at Murder Point; and they hadn't beenmuch improved by those five days of flight through the winterloneliness. When I saw that light blaze up in the distance, I began tobe afraid--and it wasn't the fear of men that I was thinking about. Iwaited until it was utterly night and then, leaving my dogs behind, stole stealthily forward to prospect. As I drew nearer, I saw that ahut of boughs had been erected, and that a man was sitting, with hisrifle on his knees, before the fire. He was very old and tall. But Ihad no opportunity to get a closer view of him, for, at that moment, he must have heard me; he put his head on one side to listen, androse to his feet. Without the waste of any time, he fired in mydirection. Luckily I had thrown myself flat along the snow, for thebullet whizzed over my head. He advanced towards me a little way, andthen, thinking that he had been mistaken, went back to his fire, grumbling to himself, and sat down. The cold ate into my bones, yet Idared not stir until I was certain that he had gone to sleep. Presently he arose, looked suspiciously around, piled more wood on hisfire, and went into his hut. 

"I hurried back to where I had left my dogs, harnessed them in and, leaving the river-bank, travelled into the bush for a distance ofabout two miles; there I tied them up, and then returned to the riverby myself, coming out at a point somewhat nearer to the old man's hut. I lay down behind a clump of trees and waited. Before day had come, Icould hear that he was astir; but he seemed to be almighty busy for aKeewatin trapper, who was only changing camp. About midday he had madehis preparations, and, stamping out his fire, set out down-stream, inthe direction of the Last Chance River. I knew that in half-an-hour hemust come across my trail, and have his suspicions of the previousnight confirmed. Sure enough, after he had passed my place of hidingand had got below me about three hundred yards, he struck my tracks. He pulled up sharply, and wheeled round, as if he could feel that myeyes were watching him; he threw up his head like an old bull caribouscenting danger. 

"I had left two trails leading from that point, the one towards hishut and back again, the other into the bush to where my dogs weretethered. If he was determined to follow up the latter and to trace meto my hiding, I was ready for him, and would have the advantage ofknowing his whereabouts, whilst he was ignorant of mine. He must havebeen going through some such argument himself, for presently hewhipped up his dogs and, with one last glance across his shoulder, continued on his journey. When he had vanished, and I had made certainthat he did not intend to return, I went forward to inspect hisabandoned camp. 

"Inside the hut I found that the floor was of earth and below thesnow-level, making evident the fact that it had been erected beforethe winter had commenced. When I examined the walls, which wereconstructed of boughs and mud, I came to the conclusion that they hadbeen standing for many years, but had been renewed from time to time. All this made it clear to me that you had been mistaken in saying thatthe Forbidden River had never been travelled. The next thing todiscover was what had brought the old man up there. The earth of thefloor was not packed together, but looked loose and rough, as thoughit had been newly dug. This gave me my first clue to the secret. WhenI walked above it, it did not sound solid, so I commenced to scrapeaway the earth. Six inches down I came to branches of trees spreadcrosswise, as though to form a roof to a cellar. Pulling these aside, after another hour of labour, I looked down into a pit which had beenhollowed out. It was getting dark now, so I lit a fire. 

"I climbed into the pit, by some rudely fashioned stairs which hadbeen shaped in the side of the wall, and soon found myself on levelfooting. Groping about down there, I could feel that the sides weretunnelled, and had been roughly timbered with the stems of trees. Going above ground, I fetched a torch and then saw all that I hadcommenced to suspect--and a good deal more. 

"Piled up in one corner was an outfit of miner's implements, pans, axes, spades, picks, etc. , and close beside them was a sack ofmoose-hide. Whipping out my knife, I cut through the thongs by whichthe sack was tied; it lurched over, letting fall a dozen ounces or soof gold dust. On searching round, I found in another corner a secondsack containing nuggets. When I went about the walls, and pushed myway into some of the tunnels, I was made certain that I was in one ofthe richest placer-mines that I had ever set eyes on. Then I went upto consider what all this meant. 

"Here was I, a man fleeing for his life, and here was this old man, apioneer in an unexplored region, who, for some reason of his own, waskeeping secret the knowledge of his bonanza, yet taking the gold outall the while. Couldn't I, by making the world a present of hisknowledge, buy back my life? Soon I recognised that that was folly;the world would accept the present, but it would also demand my life. There was nothing for it but to act by stealth. If I could once getout of Keewatin with all these riches, I would be able to purchase myescape; especially if I should remain in hiding for a year or so, until the search had been abandoned, and I had been given up for dead. Then I could sneak out and get to South America, where I was notknown, and commence life afresh. The thought of South America broughtEl Dorado to my mind, and then I remembered you, two hundred miles'distant at Murder Point. 'Why shouldn't I tell Granger?' I said. 'Thenwe could both escape, and go in search of El Dorado together, as wehave always planned. '"

He paused and looked at his companion to see what effect his words hadhad. Granger was sitting with his head bent forward, his knees drawnup and his arms about them, all attention, with a strange look ofhunger in his eyes. "Well, for God's sake don't keep me waiting, Druce. Go on, " he said. 

It was the second time that Granger had called him "Druce" in lessthan two hours; he was now certain of his ground. 

"If you are willing to help me, I think we can do as we have alwaysplanned. What do you think about it?"

"I'm willing to the death. But after you'd discovered the mine, whatdid you do then? Did the old man come back?"

"The next few days I kept a careful lookout, in case I should besurprised. When nothing happened, I commenced to prospect for myself. I could not do much as the ground was frozen; but I thawed out some ofthe dirt, and gathered a few nuggets of pretty fair size. Then theriver broke up, and I thought that I was safe for at least a time. Butsoon my provisions began to run low, so that it became necessary forme to turn back to the Last Chance River to break open the cache. Ipostponed the journey as long as I dared, and at last set out, withonly enough flour and bacon to keep me going for two days. It was hardtravelling, for my dogs were of no use to me, the snow being too moistfor the passage of a sled. I had to work my way along by theriver-bank, through melting drifts and tangled scrub. I dared notlight a fire when I camped at night, lest it should be seen by the oldman, and he should steal up and kill me while I slept. 

"I thought I began to see why he had gone away so meekly, though heknew that a stranger had found him out and was likely to stumble onhis treasure: so long as I was in hiding, I had had him at adisadvantage; but now, having gone away quietly without resistance, hewas able to await me under cover at the Forbidden River's mouth, and Iwould be the one who would run most risk when we came to an encounter. He had known that sooner or later I should run short of grub, and beforced to return to the Last Chance, and to pass by his ambush; allthat he had to do was to await me, for there is but one way out. 

"It took me three days to make the journey and when, as night wasfalling, I came in sight of the spit of land which divides the tworivers, on which the cache had been made, I had exhausted my supply ofrations. I was faint with hunger and perished with cold; but I dareddo nothing to provide for myself until I had made certain that I wasnot spied upon. 

"The river-mouth looked deserted enough; on either bank it was bare oftrees--a bald and bleak expanse of withered scrub, affording littlecover. It would be difficult for any man to approach me, without beingseen before he had come within gun-range. I followed along theleft-hand bank, which I had been travelling, till I reached the pointwhere the Last Chance and Forbidden Rivers join. Gazing up and downthe Last Chance, the same scene of desolation met my eyes; there wasno flash of camp-fire or sign of rising smoke. In the north, fromwhich quarter the wind was blowing, I could detect no smell ofburning. I began to think that I was safe, and determined to makeshort work of breaking into the cache and getting back to the hutagain. Then I awoke to a fact which I had overlooked in my anxiety toavoid a surprise attack, that the cache was on the right-hand bank andthat I was on the left. 

"The river was flowing rapidly, carrying down tree-trunks and grindingblocks of ice, so that it seemed impassable. Every now and then thehurrying mass would jam and pile up, forming a pathway above thecurrent, but not for so long a time as would allow me to climb across. 

"I'd been going on half-rations for several days in order to make myfood eke out and, consequently, was miserably nourished. A death bydrowning is preferable any day to the slower tortures of starvation; Imade up my mind to cross the river at once, at whatever cost. I beganto forget my fear of the hidden enemy in my eagerness to satisfy myhunger. 

"Retracing my steps, I walked up-stream, searching for a tree-trunkwhich would be of sufficient weight to carry me. I planned to launchout a quarter of a mile above the point which I wished to make on theother side, and to trust to the current, and what little steering Icould manage, to get me across. I lost much time in my search, for thelarger logs which had been driven ashore had got wedged, and requiredmore than one man's strength to refloat them. 

"When I found a trunk of sufficient size, the wind had dropped and amist was settling down, which made it difficult for me to see anythingthat was not immediately before my eyes. A haunting sensation ofinsecurity began to pervade my mind. I hardly know how to describe it;it was not dread of a physical death, but fear lest my soul might getlost. Though I was now about to imperil my life, for the preservationof which, during the last half year, I had made every effort of whicha human being is capable, that seemed to me as nothing when comparedwith this new danger. If a man dies, he may live again; but if hissoul is snatched from him, what is there left that can survive? Thiswas the menace of which I was aware--a menace of spiritual death, tothe cause of which I was drawing nearer through the mist. My wholedesire now was to procure the provisions for which I had made thejourney, and to escape. 

"I got astride the trunk, steadying myself with a long birch-polewhich I had cut, and pushed off. The water was icy cold, causing mylegs to ache painfully, as if they were being torn from my body byheavy weights. Soon the log was caught in the central current andbegan to race. Like maddened horses, foaming at my side, before, andbehind, the drift-ice rushed. In the misty greyness of the night, these floating ruins of the winter's silence assumed curious andterrifying shapes. Sometimes they appeared to be polar bears, havinghuman hands and faces; sometimes they seemed to be huskies, with theeyes and ears of men; but more often they were creatures utterlycorrupt, who, swimming beside me, acclaimed me as their equal and asone of themselves. 

"I remembered the reason which you had stated why the Forbidden Riveris never travelled--and I knew the power of fear as never before. Icould not see where I was going; no land was in sight. I couldperceive nothing but mocking befouled faces, and they were on everyside. With my steering pole I pushed continually towards the right, dreading every moment that I would lose my balance, or would be sweptout into the Last Chance far below the cache. These thoughts made medesperate, and I renewed the struggle with something that was morethan physical strength; I knew that, should I die at that time, Iwould become one of those damned grey faces. 

"The crossing could not have occupied more than a few minutes, butthey seemed like ages. I felt as though, for so long as I couldremember, I had been sitting astride a log, hurrying through a mist ona rushing river. 

"Presently I heard the grating of ice against ice and the cannoning oflogs, and I knew that I was nearing the other side. There was a suddenshock; the tree which I rode swung round, and I found myselfscrambling wildly up the bank out of the reach of the hands which werethrust out after me. I rose to my feet and ran, tripping and fallingcontinually as my snowshoes plunged deep in the melting crust. Eachtime I fell, it seemed to me that I had not tripped, but had beenstruck down from behind by the river-creatures which pursued me. Thenthe sound of the water grew more faint, the mist closed in upon me, and I sank exhausted. I had no idea of my position as regards thecache, nor would I have any means of finding out until morning shouldcome and the fog should rise. But I knew that it would be fatal to sitstill in my sodden clothes, on the drenching snow, without a fire, till daylight; so I got upon my feet and commenced to tread slowlyabout. 

"Presently behind the mist I could hear something moving, which wasfollowing and keeping pace with me stride by stride. Its footsteps didnot seem to be those of a man, but more frequent and lighter. I wasin that state of mind when suspense is the worst part of danger; I didnot care particularly how much I had to suffer if only I might knowcompletely what death and by whose hands I was to die. Drawing myrevolver, I made a plunge forward in the direction from which thesound had come. I saw nothing; but, when I stopped and listened, Icould hear the footsteps going round about me at just the samedistance away. I determined to pursue them; at any rate such anoccupation would keep me in motion and prevent me from perishing fromcold and dampness. But it's difficult to hunt the thing by which youare hunted. Towards daybreak a slight breeze got up which, coming inlittle gusts, cleared alleys in the heavy atmosphere as it forced apassage. The footsteps had ceased by this time, but I could hear thecreature's panting breath; for some reason it had ceased to follow. Iwaited until I heard the breeze coming and then made a rush in thedirection from which the breathing came. There, straight before me, sitting on its haunches, I saw the shadow of what appeared to be agigantic timber-wolf; the only part of it which I could discernplainly was its eyes, which, to my terrified imagination, blazed outdazzling and huge through the gloom like carriage lamps. 

"And another thing I noticed, that it was sitting beside the cache forwhich I was searching. Then the breeze died down, the mist closed inagain, and I could detect nothing of the creature's presence but thesound of its breath. 

"With my revolver in my right hand and my knife in my left, I creptslowly forward. Just ahead of me I could see something stirring, andI fired. There was a scramble of hurrying feet, and then silence. 

"When I came to the cache, it was deserted. I should have delayed tilldaylight, but my hunger was so great that I could not wait. Breakingit open, I sat down to gorge myself on the first thing that camehandy--some raw fish which had been buried there. Something movedbehind me; before I had time to turn properly round, it had leapt onmy back. I could not draw my revolver, there was no time; my onlyweapon was my knife. I saw the great face and eyes peering over myleft shoulder and made a downward stab, gashing open a deep wound fromthe ear to the lower fangs. With a cry that was almost human, thebeast jumped back and vanished. 

"When day had come, I took as much of the provisions as I could carry, and made good my escape. I was surprised at the old man's absence, andfearful lest at any moment he might turn up. I did not cross the riverat the mouth, but worked my way along the right-hand bank, intendingto cross higher up and nearer the hut, where it was more narrow. Atnoon I made a halt and snatched a little sleep, for I had purposed totravel through the night. Some hours after darkness had fallen, Ibegan to be haunted with the old sense that something was following. At first I heard no sound, for I was travelling over open ground. Presently I had to enter a thicket, and there I was made certain; forI could distinctly hear the snapping of branches, as if bent andforced aside by the passage of some forest animal. I pushed rapidlyahead, for it was not the safest place in which to be attacked. As Iglanced across my shoulder and from side to side, I continuallycaught glimpses of a thing which was grey. 

"Sometimes I was certain that I saw a face peering out at me fromabove the brake; but whether it was that of the old man or of thetimber-wolf, I could not tell--strangely enough, their faces seemed tome to be one and the same. When the day came, I felt that I was freeagain, and making camp I slept. The same thing happened next night, and the night after that, for it took me more than three days to makethe homeward journey. But each night, as I moved farther away from theForbidden River's mouth, the creature which followed had to traverse alonger and longer trail to come up with me, as I approached nearer tomy destination. 

"After I had crossed the river and reached the hut, he rarely came;and then only when the dusk had fallen early because of clouds orrain. Yet there were times, just before the dawn, when I fancied thatI could see him watching me from the bank. "

"But what has this got to do with the half-breed?" Granger broke inimpatiently. 

"That's what I'd like to know myself. But I don't know, so I'm simplygiving you facts as they happened. The horror of that wolf's face, which I confused with my memory of the old man's, made a deepimpression on me; I suppose that's why I've said so much about it. 

"However mistaken you may have been about the Forbidden River neverhaving been travelled, you were correct enough when you told me thatit was haunted. . . . And it isn't pleasant to be living a five-days'journey from the nearest white man, in a place where the beasts looklike lost souls and have the eyes of the damned. "

Granger shrugged his shoulders, "And the half-breed?" he inquired. 

"The half-breed turned up five weeks after my return from the cache. I'd been out cutting cord-wood and, when I came back, he was sittingat the door of the hut. How long he'd been there, I could not tell; Ihad been absent for perhaps two hours. I tried to find out how he'dcome, but he pretended not to understand; so, as I know no Cree, ourconversation wasn't very lengthy. At first, however, in spite of thedanger of his discovering who I was and what I was doing there, I waspleased to see him, for I was getting moody and low-spirited withliving by myself. I tried to be content with supposing that he was atrapper, who had strayed out of his district and had lighted on me byaccident. 

"We sat by the fire outside the hut and smoked together, smiling andexchanging signs every now and then, to show that we were friendly. But I watched him closely, and soon perceived that he was far moreknowing than he was willing to admit; I began to believe that he hadvisited me with a purpose. I hadn't allowed him inside the hut forfear he should see the pit, which was uncovered, and should guess thesecret or get suspicious; but I noticed that, whenever he thought thatI was not watching, his eyes would slowly turn in that direction. Idetermined to put him to the test. Though it was as yet quite early, Ibuilt up the fire for the night and signed to him that I was sleepy. He nodded his head and went on smoking; so I lay down and feigned toclose my eyes. I must have fallen asleep, for when I woke the blazehad died down to a mound of charcoal and glowing ash, with here andthere a little spurt of flame. When I looked stealthily round, Idiscovered that my companion was missing, but by listening I couldhear a sound of moving within the hut. Just then I saw his figurecoming out, so I lay down as though I had never wakened. He stood inthe doorway smiling to himself, holding something which sparkled inhis hand. Then he returned to the fire and sat down quite near to me, so that he could watch my face. 

"I suppose I must have betrayed myself for, without any warning, heflung himself upon me, slipping a noose about my neck as I attemptedto rise, which he drew tight, so that I was nearly strangled. Standingbehind me, jerking at the noose, he commanded me to hold up my hands. I was too choked and dazed for struggle, so did as he bade me. When hehad bound me hand and foot, and gagged me, he threw me inside the hutand, without a word of explanation, departed down-stream on hisjourney. 

"I tried to burst the thongs, but they were too stout either to loosenor to break. I wormed my way out on to the river-bank and tried tochafe them against a rock, but only succeeded in bruising my flesh. The sun came out and shone down upon me till my thirst grew agonising. It seemed to me that at last I had run to the end of my tether. Then athought occurred to me; wriggling toward the fire, I found that itstill smouldered. By pushing and scraping with my bound hands andfeet, I managed to get some leaves and twigs together, which soonsprang into a blaze. I waited until it had died down into a narrowflame, over which I held my hands till the thongs were charred; then, with a quick twist of the wrists, which caused my scorched flesh toflake off in shreds, I wrenched my hands apart. This is all true thatI am telling you; you can see for yourself. Already you must havenoticed those marks. " He held out his wrists for Granger's inspection;they were horribly mutilated. 

"And after that, when you got better, did the half-breed leave youundisturbed or did he come back?"

"I did not see either the half-breed or the old man again until thatearly morning when I gazed in through the window at Murder Point . . . And, do you know, that scar on the old man's face is in the same placeas the wound which I gave the timber-wolf?"

Granger laughed nervously. "And what d'you make of that?"

"I hardly dare to say; but, somehow, that beast seemed to me to bemore than a wolf--it looked like a dead soul. "

"A dead what? You've said that once before to-night. "

Spurting stared at him, amazed at his agitation. "A dead soul, " herepeated; "a soul which has gone out from a man, and left his bodystill alive. "

"Do you know what name the Indians have given to that old man?" askedGranger in an awe-struck voice. 

"How should I know? I think you called him Beorn. "

"Yes, but his other name is the _Man with the Dead Soul_. "

CHAPTER XVI

IN HIDING ON HUSKIES' ISLAND

They stared at one another in silence, striving not to realise themeaning of those words; yet their meaning was unavoidable. 

Both knew the legend of the _loup-garou_, the grim tradition of thepeasants of Quebec which the _coureurs des bois_ have carried withthem into every part of Canada. Often in the Klondike, when seatedround the stove on a winter's night, they had heard it retold byFrench-Canadians, in low excited whispers, with swift and frightenedturnings of the head. They had laughed at it in the daylight: yet atnight, when the tale was in the telling, it had seemed very real tothem. Then there had come that Christmas-Eve, when Jacques La Francehad been found dead in his shack, with a hole in his neck, justoutside of Dawson City. Little Baptiste had owned with tears to thecrime, and had excused himself saying that he had been compelled tothe shooting because Jacques was his dearest friend, and Jacques hadbecome a _loup-garou_ through not attending the Easter Sacrament forseven years; as everybody knew, only by the inflicting of a bloodywound on his beast's body could his soul be saved from hell. 

The jury who had tried him had been composed mostly ofFrench-Canadians. When it had been proved to them that wolf tracks hadbeen found before the dead man's threshold, they had acquittedBaptiste, and had apologised for his arrest, in defiance of thejudge's disapproval. 

 * * * * *

Two and a half years at Murder Point had made Granger undogmatic onproblems of metempsychosis, and of the extent to which the barrierswhich hedge in Man's spiritual life may be pushed back. 

It seemed not unlikely to him that there were men whose souls, consciously or unconsciously, either by reason of their crimes or forthe better accomplishment of an evil desire, could go out from theirbodies while they slept, and be changed into the forms of beasts ofprey between sunset and dawn-rise. At all events, this was aphenomenon which could not be disproved, and there were many whobelieved it true. 

So he recalled unjudgingly the story of Jacques, also he remembered aninstance still nearer home--that of the Hudson Bay factor, who hadprayed to God that he might gaze with his living eyes upon hisdisembodied soul. 

It was not the possibility of the fact which he doubted, butSpurling's motive in telling him such a tale. 

Might he not have shown him the gold only in order to regain hisfriendship, and then have lied to him in order to restrain him frominvestigating, and, perhaps, with the purpose of sowing distrust inhis mind concerning Beorn and Eyelids? Whatever had been his purpose, _there_ was the gold; Granger was determined, in spite of the risk, tosee the Forbidden River for himself. Spurling was speaking, "And hiseyebrows meet, " he said. 

Granger knew to what he was referring, for, all the world over, wherethis belief is current, it is supposed that the werewolf may bedetected in his human guise by the meeting of his eyebrows, whichappear like wings, as if his soul were prepared for flight. 

He was about to reply, when his hand, straying about his throat, chanced upon the silver chain by which the locket of Mordaunt wassuspended, which he had stolen from the body of Strangeways. It waslike a warning voice, recalling the past, which urged him to distrustthis man. Spurling must have seen the change, for he leant overtowards him appealingly, as if he were about to entreat him to bepatient. With a gesture of annoyance Granger rose to his feet andcommenced to walk away; but he halted sharply and drew into theshadow, signing to Spurling to keep quiet. From very far away, borneon the stillness of the night, they could hear the rhythmic beat ofseveral paddle-blades. 

Crawling upon his hands and knees, Spurling joined him. "What is it?"he asked. "Is it Eyelids again?" Granger pointed up-river. "They'recoming from the west, " he whispered, "and there are at least four menby the sound of the blades. "

"What men come from the west at this season? Surely, they should betravelling in the opposite direction, going towards God's Voice?"

"They should be, and it is for that reason that I fear for yoursafety. "

Nothing more was said, but Spurling guessed what was implied--thatthis might be a fresh messenger of justice, coming down the LastChance River to rob him of his life. 

Very stealthily, taking advantage of every shadow, they crept down thehillside through the underbrush, till they came to the cove wherethey had landed. Twenty paces from the water's edge they hidthemselves, at a point from which they could command a view of thetravellers' approach. 

Nearer and nearer the monotonous swirling of the water, beaten by thepaddles, came; the darkness ahead of the island shifted and tookshape; they could distinctly hear the sound of men's voices, engagedin low-pitched and angry conversation. A large canoe, carrying sixmen, which flew the red flag of the Hudson Bay Company, shot out fromthe shadows. Now they could make out some of the words which werebeing spoken by two of the travellers. 

"And you say that you believe he's innocent! Well then I tell you thathe's a damned scoundrel. If he didn't actually kill him, it wasn't forlack of the desire; you may bet your sweet life on that. In any case, he's a demoralising influence in the district, and it's best for allparties that he should be put out of the way. "

A second voice interrupted at this point; it seemed to be arguing andtrying to conciliate, but its tones were so low and spoken so rapidlythat it was only possible to gather its general intention. The firstvoice spoke again. 

"I don't care about the other man; there's no sense in looking forhim. He's probably dead by now. But the fellows I can't stand arethese blamed private traders; they're always up to some dirty work. When I get my chance of putting one of them out of business, I don'thesitate. To hell with all private traders, I say. "

The canoe had now drawn level with the cove, so that Granger was ableto recognise its occupants. In the stern sat the Indian steersman, with a rifle ready to his hand. Next to him sat a large red-beardedman, broad in the shoulders, massive in the jowl, almost brutal in hisevidence of strength; even in that dusky light one could feel that hisface was clenched in a scowl, and that his eyes were piercingly grayand cruel. Facing him, with his back towards the prow, sat PèreAntoine, a little bent forward, gesticulating with his hands, hiswhole attitude that of one who is trying to explain and persuade. After him came the remaining three Indian and half-breed paddle-men, sharp-featured and unemotional, stooping vigorously to their work. 

"And what do you propose doing?" asked Père Antoine. 

"Why, what I've already told you a dozen times--treat him like a maddog. I shall arrest him at once, and take him back with me as prisonerto God's Voice. When once I've got him there, I shall make him confessand get together sufficient evidence to have him hanged. This wholeaffair has been a scandal, and I'm going to put a stop to it. I shallmake an example of this man. Why, soon it won't be safe to travelanywhere, unless you go protected. He must have had a nice lot ofruffians for his friends, if this fellow Spurling was a specimen. Andnow they've taken to paying him visits. . . . "

The canoe bore the speaker out of earshot, leaving the listeners withthe sentence uncompleted. 

Granger was aroused from some very uncomfortable imaginings bySpurling, who, touching him on the elbow, exclaimed in surprise, "Why, it isn't me; it's you they're after!"

Then, when he received no answer, he asked, "What is it that you havedone?"

It was Cain accusing Judas with a vengeance. 

"Done! I've done nothing, " Granger exclaimed, pushing him aside;"Robert Pilgrim is mistaken. "

"That's what we all say, until we are forced to own up. "

But Granger was not listening to what Spurling said; he was torturedwith the truth of one sentence which he had heard that night. "If hedidn't actually kill him, it wasn't for lack of the desire. " How hadRobert Pilgrim guessed that? As he himself had confessed toStrangeways, he had been tempted at first to let him go on his wayunwarned, and take his chances of falling through the ice. Eventuallyhe had cautioned him, but so late and in such a manner that his wordshad only had the effect of skilfully forwarding his earlier baseintention. _If he had not actually killed him, it was not for lack ofthe desire. _ And by how much was he superior to this man, crouching athis side, whom he had so often condemned and had again condemned thatnight?

Spurling answered that question for him. Rising to his feet andstretching his cramped arms and legs, he remarked, "Well, of course, if you won't take me into your confidence, there's nothing more to besaid. If you don't want to tell me, I won't trouble you by askingagain; but it seems to me that we're both in the one boat now. "

This new sense of equality with his companion, though it was only anequality in crime, had suddenly brought about a change for the betterin Spurling. He carried himself freely, in the old defiant manner, andhad lost his attitude of cringing subservience. At first Granger hadit in his heart to hate him for the change, knowing, as he did, thatit arose from an unhesitating acceptance of this chance-heard, unproved assertion of his own kindred degradation. But soon the hatredgave way to another emotion, which, perhaps, had its genesis in amemory of those earlier days, when this man had been willing to standbetween him and the world. In gazing upon him, looking so big andpowerful, he was comforted with a sense that his misery was shared. Alatter-day writer has wisely recorded, "I have observed that the mereknowing that other people have been tried as we have been tried is aconsolation to us, and that we are relieved by the assurance that oursufferings are not special and peculiar. In the worst of maladies, thehealing effect which is produced by the visit of a friend who cansimply say, 'I have endured all that, ' is most marked. "

And it was this consolation which Granger now began to experience inSpurling's presence. 

Though the separate circumstances which lay behind their commonaccusation were utterly different, the one man being innocent of theinfamy wherewith he was charged and the other guilty, their danger wasthe same. 

Without telling him anything of Strangeways' death or entering intoany explanation of the reasons for which he was suspected, Grangerdetermined to face, without dispute, the premier fact in thecase--that he was hunted for his life as was Spurling--and to plan forthe future with him, as though he were his fellow-criminal in resultas well as in intent. 

They returned to their former station, on the rock beneath thesolitary pine, from which they could command a view of the approach tothe island on every side, and there lay themselves down, so thattheir presence might not be observed. Then Granger spoke, "Well, andwhat is to be done?" he said. 

Spurling's answer was brief and to the point. "Hide here till the wayis clear; then seek out the Forbidden River, and afterwards escape. "

"But Eyelids knows where we are, and he may betray us?"

"Yes, but he does not know, unless you have told him, that I am a manwith a price upon his head; and it is me, not you, whom he hates. "

"And we have no food. "

"If the worst comes to the worst, we have the huskies; and it seems tome that the priest was your friend--and then there is your wife. "

Even in his present predicament Granger could not restrain a smile, for it had not occurred to him to rely on Peggy for help--_his wife_. 

"Yes, " he replied grimly, "there is my wife. "

But before the night was over he had occasion to regret his sneer. They had agreed to keep watch, turn and turn about, two hours at astretch. Spurling was on guard, when Granger was aroused by thefurious yelping of the huskies on the shore which was nearest to theriver-bank. 

Peering cautiously over the edge of the rock, they could see thatsomething was swimming down the current, making for the island, butwhether man or animal they could not yet discern. As it came nearerthey saw that it was a head, upon which was balanced a burden, whichthe swimmer supported with one hand. Running down to where the huskieswere gathered, they cuffed them into silence, and there waited. Thelaboured breathing grew louder and louder; presently a face waslifted clear of the water, which Granger recognised. Turning toSpurling, as he stepped into the river to help the swimmer out, hewhispered, "It's Peggy. "

He caught her in his arms, and, taking her bundle from her, drew hersafe to land. She was naked and shivered in the cold night air--aslender statue of bronze. Her hair hung dripping about her shoulders, and her eyes were bright with excitement. Granger thought, as he gazedon her, that he had never realised how beautiful she was. Freed fromher conventional European garments, there was a grace of rebellionabout her which brought her into harmony with the forest environment, which was also unconfined. 

But she had come to the island on a serious errand, and with nothought of being admired. Drawing her husband to one side, she toldhim that he would find a revolver and food, sufficient for three days, in the bundle which she had brought, and advised him to lie quietly onthe island until Robert Pilgrim should have gone away. She told himthat Père Antoine was his friend, and was doing his best to save him. When Granger asked her how she had known where he was, she repliedthat Eyelids had told her, but that she had made him promise to tellno one else, so that even Antoine was in ignorance of his whereabouts. She had given them to understand that he had set out for God's Voice aweek ago, and had simulated surprise and grave concern that he had notarrived before the factor's departure; but she added, "They know thatI am lying. "

When Granger referred to the murder with which he was charged, andbegan hurriedly to explain why he had not told her about it, shebecame strangely perturbed, and cut him short, saying that she mustget back to the store before her absence was observed. It was quiteevident to him that she had not for a moment doubted but that he wasguilty; it was also evident that so small a misdemeanour as killing aman was not reckoned in her code of morals as being very blameworthy. He felt hurt at her lack of faith in his integrity; but afterwards, when he came to think things over, was amazed at her unswervingloyalty in spite of that deficiency. 

He watched her plunge into the river on her return journey, swimacross, run lightly up the bank to where her clothes were lying, anddisappear in the gloom of the forest. 

"If I could only learn to care for her, " he thought, "even here, inKeewatin, I might have something left to live for. " And then, in thesolemnity which precedes the sunrise, made conscious of the emptinesswhich her departure had left, he added, "And I do begin to care. "

It was noticeable that in all that she had said, she had made noreference to Spurling. For the next three days they lay in hiding, noone coming near them, either friend or enemy. To occupy the time, andforget their anxiety, as though they were not men who dwelt beneaththe shadow of death, they talked of their old quest, making plans forthe future, and mapping out with their fingers in the dust new routes, by the following of which El Dorado might be attained. And it was thusthat they strove to escape the pain of the realness of theirpresent--by entering into a faery land, sufficiently remote from lifeto remain unthreatened. 

It was in this land of the imagination that they had first met, andformed their friendship. Revisiting it in one another's company, thehideousness of what had happened was, for the time being, blotted out;they renewed their former intimacy and passion. With the mention offamiliar names, kind associations of bygone pleasures were aroused, and the old affection sprang to life. They shrank from any allusion tosuch things as had befallen them since their London days. Yetcontinually, in the midst of the most eager conversation, one or otherof them would glance up, and cast his eyes along the river to theeastward, remembering Murder Point. It was in the early dawn of thefourth day, when, gazing toward the store, Granger descried two redsquares of sail flapping against the sunrise. It was his lookout, andSpurling was asleep. He aroused him, bending over him and crying, "TheYork boats are coming from Crooked Creek; we shall be rid of RobertPilgrim now. " When Spurling was thoroughly awake and had seen thesails for himself, he asked him to explain. Then Granger told him how, in the summer of every year, the outposts of the Hudson Bay Companysend in their winter's catch of furs to the head fort of theirdistrict, which in this case was God's Voice, where the skins arebaled and graded, and dispatched to the London headquarters--which, being the most important duty of a factor's year, meant that RobertPilgrim would have to return in order to superintend. 

All through the long June day they waited, hoping to see their enemy'sdeparture; but the sails had been lowered and nothing was now visibleof the York boats save their tall bare masts jutting above theriver-banks. At times they would see groups of voyageurs, walkingdistantly among the trees, perhaps assisting the factor in one lastlazy search for the fugitive. As the heat of the afternoon increased, even these disappeared. But, when evening was come, they saw, to theirgreat joy, that the sails were hoisted again; and presently, borne tothem over the brooding stillness, they heard the cries of the rowersand the thud of the heavy oars in the wooden rowlocks. Those soundsmeant freedom to them; they trembled in their excitement. 

Peering out from between the bushes, they watched the approach of thetwo black galleys, each with its eight oarsmen and cargo of piled-upbales, like pirate craft returning with their spoils. The flashing ofthe gawdy scarves of the men, the motion of their bodies as they stoodup for the stroke, flung their weight upon the enormous oars, and satdown at the finish, only to rise up again with monotonous shouts ofencouragement, the banging of the sail against the mast, the ripplingof the water as the prow pressed forward--all these spoke of life tothe watchers, of endeavour, and bravery, and travel, causing theirblood to redouble its pace and their hope to arise. There was stillone doubt which troubled them, lest, in spite of the need of hispresence at the fort, the enmity of Robert Pilgrim should havepersuaded him to stay. But that was soon laid to rest, when in thebows of the leading York boat they saw his canoe, and later, as thesail swung round, caught a glimpse of the red-bearded man himself, seated in the stern. Antoine was by his side. As the boat passed by, they strained their ears to catch any scrap of conversation whichmight be of use to them in making their escape. But the noise of thevoyageurs and of the wind in the sail was deafening, moreover the boatwas making good headway, so that they only overheard one phrase:

"You've brought me on a fool's errand. You say the man is dead, andyou've shown me his grave, and yet. . . . " It was Pilgrim who wasspeaking; but before he had finished his sentence, his voice wasdrowned in the shouting of the men and the splashing of the blades. 

Granger, having watched them out of sight, turned to Spurling with asigh of relief. "Thank God, they've gone, " he said. 

Then he noticed that his companion was deadly pale. "What's the matternow, " he asked; "are you so badly cut up at parting with such dearfriends?"

"Did you hear what he said?" gasped Spurling, pushing his face nearer, and staring Granger squarely between the eyes. "Did you hear what hesaid? 'You say the man is dead, and you've shown me his grave, andyet. . . . ' And yet what? Can you guess how that sentence was going toend?"

Granger was bewildered by his ferocious earnestness. He could notimagine its purpose, or what had caused it. "Why, of course I heardwhat he said, " he replied. "I suppose Antoine's been trying topersuade the factor that I am dead, and he's loath to believe it. "

"If that is what he meant all the better for us, but I doubt it. "

But why he doubted it Granger could not get him to confess; so, turning his mind to other thoughts, like a sensible man, he set aboutlaunching the canoe, preparatory to the return to Murder Point. Thelast sight they saw as they paddled away, was the four gray huskies, which Spurling had brought with him on his first arrival, seated ontheir haunches in a row by the water's edge, raising their dismalvoices to the sky. "Looks as though those damned beasts were doingtheir best to call Pilgrim back, " said Spurling. 

On the way to the Point they talked matters over, and determined that, since they had no time to waste, they would stop at the store only solong as was necessary for the getting together of an outfit, and woulddepart for the Forbidden River that night. Eyelids and Beorn were tobe left in charge at Murder Point, which would serve to flatter atleast one of them, and would keep them occupied. If they should demandan explanation for this sudden going away, the answer was obvious, that Granger did not choose to be arrested by the factor of God'sVoice. There was only one embarrassment which stood in their way, which was that in Granger's absence the boat would probably arrivefrom Garnier, Parwin and Wrath, bringing articles of trade in exchangefor his year's collection of furs, letters of instructions from thepartners for the future conduct of their interests, and expecting tocarry back to Winnipeg his annual statement of accounts. He made uphis mind to meet this difficulty by ordering Peggy to tell thepartners that he was dead. Such a report, he calculated, were itbelieved and properly circulated, would help him greatly in his escapefrom Keewatin, when he had gathered his gold on the Forbidden Riverand was ready to go out. This course of action had been suggested tohim by the unfinished sentence of Robert Pilgrim, which they hadoverheard. 

As they drew near the Point, they were struck with the profoundness ofits quiet. They themselves had experienced so great a change in theirfour days of absence, so much of emotional strife and perturbation, that they were somehow surprised to find it unaltered. Beorn, asusual, was sitting on the pier-head, smoking his pipe; he did not lookup or recognise them. Eyelids, on the other side of the river, wassetting his evening nets: he nodded to Granger from across the water, smiled and went on with his work. On entering the shack, theydiscovered Peggy busily engaged over the evening meal, as though theyhad forwarned her as to when they would arrive. Her face betrayedneither annoyance nor pleasure--she might never have visited Huskies'Island. In the presence of so much that was commonplace, Spurling'sfantastic account of what had happened to him on the Forbidden Riverseemed absurd and outrageous. 

It took them two hours to prepare their outfit and carry it down tothe canoe; they were in no hurry to set out, for so long as they wereon the Last Chance they intended to travel only by night. 

No one seemed to notice their doings, and even they themselves, becoming infected with the quiet of their surroundings, graduallyceased from conversing, and, except for an occasional necessaryquestion, did their work in silence. At last, when it had grown asdark as it ever is in June time in Keewatin, signalling to one anotherwith their eyes, they agreed that it was time to set out. Spurlinghaving stepped down to the pier, Granger looked round for Peggy. Hefound her sitting in the grass a few paces behind him; she had comethere so gently that he had been unaware of her nearness. Taking hisplace beside her, he commenced to speak to her the words which he hadplanned to say. She listened attentively, making no sign which wouldbetray her state of mind. "Do you understand?" he asked her; and shefor answer bowed her head. 

Thinking that she was indifferent as to what became of him, he rose tohis feet, saying in a hard voice, "Good-bye. I must be going. Thankyou for what you did for me on the island!" He had turned his back anddescended the mound a few paces, when he felt her clinging to hishand, pressing it against her cheek, and he knew that she was crying. 

"Why, what's the matter?" he asked, bending down to her. 

"Don't go, don't go, " she whispered. 

"Why not, Peggy? I've not been of much use to you. I don't thinkyou'll miss me. "

"I hate that man, " she panted. 

"But why?"

"Because he's taking you away from me; and, though you may return fromthis journey, there will come a day when you will not return and Ishall be left alone. "

Granger was surprised at her display of passion--she had seemed to himso cold. He had come to think of her as only a squaw-wife: but it wasthe white woman in her who had spoken those words. He tried to comforther, denying her doubts and talking to her as though she had been afrightened child. But throughout all that he said she kept onwhispering, "He is taking you away from me. One day he will see to itthat you do not return. "

And had Granger stopped to think, he would have known that what shesaid was true; for, when once his dream of El Dorado had becomecapable of accomplishment, she would be to him as nothing. He heardSpurling calling him by name. Lifting her to her feet, he kissed herupon the mouth, and, amazed at his own kindness, as though he had donesomething shameful, ran down the mound, stepped into the canoe, andlaunched out. 

Bending forward to Spurling, who was sitting in the bows, "It's ElDorado or death this time, " he whispered. Spurling did not answer him, but he saw him crouch his shoulders as if to avoid a lash, and heardhis mutter, like the echo of his own voice, "_Or death_. "

The canoe was travelling heavily, for Spurling had stopped paddling. Granger was about to expostulate with him when, watching him moreattentively, he discovered that his eyes were fixed upon the bend. Asthey drew nearer, and were passing by, his body trembled and he buriedhis face in his hands. Not until the bend was behind him did he takeup his paddle--and then he flung himself into the work with frenzy, asone who fled. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE FORBIDDEN RIVER

"If we are to get back before the winter closes in upon us we muststart to-night. "

Spurling looked up from the pan of dirt which he was washing. "You'vesaid that ten times a day in the last two weeks if you've said itonce, " he snapped. 

"Yes, but I mean it this time. We've got all the gold that we cancarry. If you won't come with me, I shall take the canoe and startback by myself. "

"Oh, you will, will you? And d'you think that I don't see through yourgame?" Then noticing how Granger's hand had gone instinctively to hiship-pocket, he added, "And if it comes to fighting, I go armedmyself. "

In a flash both men had whipped out their revolvers, but Spurling wasthe fraction of a second late; Granger had him covered. 

"So you're going to murder me, after all, " Spurling continuedsneeringly. "You've postponed it a long time; it was at Drunkman'sShallows that you were going to do it first. Your excuse then was thatyou weren't John Granger, but your baser self. You were always a goodhand at excuses. And pray who are you now?"

"Throw away that revolver, " shouted Granger, in a voice that was thickwith anger. 

Spurling tossed it a couple of yards away. 

"No, that won't do. Throw it into the river. Don't rise to your feet;crawl to it on your hands and knees. "

Spurling looked at him surlily to see whether he dared disobey, thendid as he was commanded. There was a flash of silver as the weaponspun through the air, a commotion of spray, as though a fish hadrisen, and a distant and more distant shining as it sank down andsettled on the river-bed. 

"That's right. Now let me tell you, Druce Spurling, that you're a foolfor your pains. If either you or I are to be alive this time nextyear, however we may feel towards one another at present, we've got toact as though we were friends. There'll be time enough for quarrellingwhen we've seen the last of Murder Point, and have passed out over thewinter trail with our gold, and know that we are safe. Why, you fool, we've been here nearly four months and we've already got more goldthan we can take with us; it's October, and the river may close upalmost any day. "

Spurling began to mutter something about how, if it weren't forGranger, _he'd_ be able to get out all right. 

"What's that you're saying?" Granger interrupted him. "I've heard thattale ever since we set out and I'm sick of hearing it. You fancy thatthe Mounted Police think that you are dead, and have ceased to searchfor you, and that I'm the man they're after now. You say that I'mknown in the district, and that you are unknown, except by thathalf-breed who caught sight of you as you went by God's Voice;therefore you argue that I am a danger, a hindrance to you. You'd liketo get rid of me, so that you may get out with the gold, in safety, byyourself. It's the same old trick that you tried to play me in theKlondike; you want to reach El Dorado without me. You swine! Do youknow why it is that the Mounted Police are after me? It's because Itook pity on you, remembering old times, and tried to prevent yourbeing hanged--that's why. And you make it an excuse for deserting me. I've not told you that before, and I can see that you don't believe menow. Well, I'm not going to give you the details which would proveit--I'm not asking for gratitude from such a cur as you've turned out. All I'm going to say is this: from the first of your coming up hereI've tried to play fair by you; I've done more than that, I've comenear giving you my life--giving, mind you, not letting you take it asyou've been inclined to do many times. And I'm willing to play fairuntil the end--until we get outside and are safe; then we can each goon our separate ways, if we so decide. I know where I'm going--to ElDorado. I daresay you're going to try to get there too, but that isnone of my concern. I'm concerned with the present. That canoe ismine, and what's left of the grub is mine. The gold we share betweenus. If you don't want to come with me I'll take the canoe and otherthings which belong to me, and my share of the dust and nuggets, andyou can stay here. But if you come with me, you've got to behonourable and behave like a man--not a husky. I give you two minutesto make your choice. "

"There isn't any choice to be made, " growled Spurling; "you offer meyour company or starvation. I choose your company, much as I detestit. And I'd like to know who you are to speak to me like this? Andwhat there is to lose your temper about? If you'd explained what you'dwanted, I'd have come quietly; but I'd rather cut my throat at onceand be done with it than be ordered about by a man like you--a fellowmarried to a squaw-wife. "

Granger's face went white and his lips trembled; his finger closedupon the trigger, then with an effort he controlled himself. "I thinkI've heard enough from you on that point, " he said; "suppose we dropthis discussion and get the canoe ready?"

He turned upon his heel and walked into the hut, followed more slowlyby Spurling. 

This was by no means their first falling out in the past four months;from the night that they left Murder Point things had been going frombad to worse. Given two men who set out into the forest together, bound by the strongest ties of friendship, who travel in one another'sfootsteps and sleep side by side for days and nights at a stretch, without seeing any other face but one another's and their ownreflected visage, with nothing to break the silence but their ownvoices, and the cries of the wilderness, which have becomeirritatingly monotonous because of their sameness and frequentreiteration, and it is a thing to be marvelled at if they do not comeback enemies. But when they set out each with his own hidden secret, each with his own private suspicion of his companion, with a gnawingenmity between them which has been changed into a show of friendshiponly by force of circumstance, when the object of their journey is apossession over which they have quarrelled before and parted company, concerning which they are already secretly jealous, then the finalrelationship of those two men can be forecast without any fear oferror. 

Before they had reached the Forbidden River they had ceased toconverse. By the time that they had landed at the hut, their nerveswere jangled. Before they had been working there many days they hadthought their way over all their old grievances, and, like petulantchildren, were on the lookout for any new cause of offence. The causehad come when Spurling, tired with rocking the cradle, his face andhands swollen by the sun and mosquito-bitten, had said, "I don't seewhy we should take all this trouble. I'm going to quit work. "

Granger was attending to the flume which they had constructed. "You'regoing to do no such thing, " he had said. 

"Yes, I am; you're not my master and I shan't ask your permission. There's as much gold as we shall require in those two sacks which theMan with the Dead Soul washed out. If you've got such a scrupulousconscience, you can dig out your share; but I'm not going to helpyou. "

"So you've turned thief now, in addition to your other profession, "was the retort which Granger had thrown back. 

Out of such small foolishnesses had arisen quarrel after quarrel, sothat it had become only necessary for Spurling to make a statement forGranger to contradict him, or for Granger to express a desire forSpurling to thwart its accomplishment. Day by day they would toiltogether, digging out the muck, emptying it into the sluice-boxes ortesting it in the pan, without exchanging a word; then some triflingdifficulty would arise, for which, perhaps, neither of them wasresponsible, and they would seize the opportunity to goad one anotheron to murder with the evil of what they said. On one point only werethey agreed--the gathering of the most wealth in the shortest time;for wealth meant to them escape and the preserving of their lives. Tothis end they feverishly laboured both day and night, reserving nospecial hours for sleep and rest. Yet, even in their escape, as hasbeen seen, they did not necessarily include one another; so far asSpurling was concerned, when once the gold had been acquired, it was"each man for himself. " There was no loyalty between them; they werekept together only by a common avarice, and by fear of the wideness ofthe Northland. 

Yet there were times when Granger would waken to a sense of somethingthat was better. By the end of August they had washed out all the dustand nuggets that they could possibly carry, and it was then that hehad recognised that greed, regardless of consequence, had become themaster-passion of both their lives. The words which the Dead Soul hadspoken to him would come back, "I will make a man more precious thanfine gold; even a man than the golden wedge of Ophir"--and he wouldlook at Spurling and, bending down above the water, he would regardhimself. Going over to Spurling he would say, laying his hand upon hisshoulder, "Druce, in spite of the harsh things which we have spoken, we must still be friends, and seek out El Dorado together. "

After such a reconciliation they would talk together of their plansand the various ways in which they would amend their lives; butgradually they came to know that, while they lived, their hatred nevercould be dead, and, defiant of whatsoever resolutions they might make, would surely reassert itself. It was the spirit of the North whichspoke through them, and not they themselves--the spirit of silence, striving to utter itself, and of enmity to all the world. 

They carried out their treasure from the hut and placed it in thecanoe. It was done up in all kinds of packets, in flour-sacks, emptytobacco-tins, torn strips of blanket which they had sewn together, andabandoned clothing tied up at the arms and legs. Before they hadplaced it all in, together with what remained to them of their outfit, the little craft sat so low in the water that it was evident that itwould be swamped if there was added to its burden the weight of twomen. They were compelled to sit down and consider how much of theiroutfit could be abandoned. Even then, when they had rejected all theprovisions, save those which were necessary for a five days' journey, and their blankets and their rifles, the canoe was still unsafe. 

At Spurling's suggestion they limited themselves to half rations andtook off all their clothing except their trousers and shirts; andstill it was too heavy. Very reluctantly they set to work to take outsome of the gold, commencing with the smaller amounts. When they hadfinished, they had thrown out all their last month's work, and stillthe canoe was by no means steady. 

Spurling, with the foresight and thrift of a man who has a long lifebefore him, went into the hut and, bringing out a spade, commenced todig. When he had made a hole of sufficient width and depth, he buriedthe abandoned nuggets and gold dust. 

Granger watched him to the end. Then, with a touch of bitterness inhis tones, he asked, "And what's that for?"

"In case I should ever be able to come back, " said Spurling, "and sothat no one else may find it. "

"Don't you worry yourself, you'll be in El Dorado before that time, or else hanged. In either case, a trifle like that won't matter. "

He scowled; Granger's flippancies on the subject of death, especiallydeath with a rope about his neck, always made him feel unhappy. Hetried to take his place in the stern, but Granger would not trust himthere; he signed to him to take the forward paddle, where he wouldhave no opportunity of making a surprise attack. They pushed off andquickly lost sight of the hut, the discovery of which had meant somuch to them. Now that they had procured their wealth and abandonedtheir diggings, all their eagerness was for escape. 

The sunset lay behind them, and before, like a black-mailed host, preparing to dispute their passage, the shadows of night weregathered. During the past month the forest leaves had turned fromgreen, and gray, into copper, yellow, and flaming red. The branches ofthe tallest of the underbrush were already bare and, clusteredtogether beneath the tree-trunks, created the effect of scarves ofmist which shifted from silver to lavender. The floor of the forestwas of gold, where the fallen foliage had scattered; but, where thescrub-oak grew, it was golden splashed with blood. The dominant toneof the landscape was of gold and blood; through the heart of which ranthe river, changing by infinitesimal, overlapping shadings from yellowinto red, from red into night-colour, from night-colour intonothingness. Down this roadway passed the trespassers, with the thingwhich they had stolen weighing down their canoe to the point ofdanger; murder was in their hearts, and grey fear ran before them. Instinctively they bowed their heads, suspicious of one another, peering ahead into the distance for an enemy who awaited them, andfrom side to side or behind for one who followed. 

During their stay at the hut, nothing had come near to disturbthem--nothing in human guise. But from the first they had been awareof the timber-wolf, which Spurling had seen on his first visit and haddescribed to Granger. It had not shown itself in the daytime and hadrarely been seen in its entirety at night; but they had known that itwas near them by the rustling of the bushes, and had at times caught aglimpse of its shadow, or of its eyes looking out at them from undercover. 

Even when they had not heard it, they had come across its footprints. Towards the dawn, had one of them risen early and strayed far fromcamp, he had sometimes seen it cross his path ahead, or had heard ittracking him. So nervous had they become, that they had never stirredfar from one another; while one had slept, the other had kept watch. Perhaps this dread of a constant menacer, and the more terrible fearof being left alone in its presence, had prevented bloodshed whentheir more furious quarrels were at their height. Of a mere wolf, noman who is armed need have terror; their discomfort arose from thesuspicion that this creature, which watched and lay in wait for them, was more than an animal. 

There had been a night when it was Spurling's turn to keep guard, andhe had slept. Granger had wakened with a nervous sense of peril. Through the open door of the hut he had seen the silver of themoonlight in the tree-tops across the river and had seen the outlineof his companion stretched along the ground. As he watched, he hadseen a shadow fall across the threshold, followed by a head. It wasgrey in colour, the ears were laid back, and the fangs were bared asif with hunger. But it was the eyes which had absorbed his attention. They were angry and reproachful; he had seen them before--they werethe eyes of a man whose soul is dead. They recalled to him that nightwhen Beorn had declared himself. That he recognised them, as headmitted to himself when daylight was come, may have been only fancy;but the impression which he had while he gazed on them was very real. Moreover, he saw distinctly the scar of the wound which Spurling hadinflicted in his fight at the cache. Then the head had been withdrawn, and the hut had been darkened by a huge form which stood across thedoorway. He had heard Spurling turn over on his side, rouse up and cryout. 

The form had crouched and sprung, and the light shone in again. Therewas a sound of scuffling outside, followed by a thud. Leaping to hisfeet, dazed and bewildered, he had run out in time to see atimber-wolf of monstrous size, with Spurling's arm in its mouth, dragging him away into the forest. Careless of his own safety, he hadgone after the animal, belabouring its head with the stock of hisrifle, for he was afraid to shoot, lest he should wound his companion. It had dropped its prey and fled, bounding off into the dusk betweenthe tree-trunks, leaving Spurling a little mauled but not muchinjured. This experience had served to prove to them that, howevermuch they hated, they were still indispensable to each other's safety, and must hold together. 

Granger, for his own peace of mind, had sought to find an explanationfor this happening. If the beast was indeed Beorn's soul, then whywas it exiled there, on the Forbidden River? Had Beorn killed theminers, in his underground fights on the Comstock, not out ofrighteous indignation, as he had stated, but only for the pleasure ofdestroying life and out of envious, disappointed avarice? Had hemocked God consciously in making Him responsible for those crimes, andin attributing to Him their inspiration? If these things were so, thenthis might have been his fitting punishment, that, when by his ownwickedness he had made himself an outcast from the company of mankind, and had been compelled to banish himself, for the sake of his ownpreservation, to a land where nothing was of much value, money leastof all, there he had discovered the gold in the profitless search ofwhich he had made himself vile. The power over gladness, which itwould have represented to another man, had been of no use to him now, for he had not dared to take it out of the district to where it wouldacquire its artificial worth; yet he had not dared to remain on theForbidden River: for there was no food there. So his body and soul hadparted company; his body going south to God's Voice, while his soulstayed near to the thing after which it had lusted, for which it hadexchanged its happiness, to guard it, that it might not become thepossession of a freer man and bring him the gladness which to amurderer is denied. 

This had seemed to Granger to be the only explanation which fitted inwith all the facts. In accepting it, he had found room for thesuspicion that he also had laid waste his life not for the sake ofromance, not for his dream's sake, but for the sake of greed alone. Having made gold his hope, having said to the fine gold, "Thou art myconfidence, " he had committed an iniquity to be punished by the judge. 

Had he suffered all that punishment as yet, or was there worse tofollow? Would the worst that he could expect be death? Once, when hewas poor, he had only feared life; but now, with his treasure beneathhis feet, with the canoe gliding southward on the journey out, therewas added this new terror--the fear of death. He desired mostpassionately to live now. 

Darkness had fallen and the air was growing colder. Presently, flakeby flake, the first snow of winter drifted down. The two men saidnothing, but they paddled faster, for the chill struck into theirchests through their shirts, making them repent the folly which hadled them to abandon their clothing that more gold might be carried. Every now and again, Spurling broke out into a fit of coughing and, ashe shivered, the canoe trembled. As for Granger his hands were heavy, his arms ached, and his fingers were numb; he dimly wondered at hisown perseverance that he still continued to ply his paddle. As thecold spread through him, his senses took to sleeping. He was arousedby a sudden jerk and a shout from Spurling, "Curse you. Back water. Turn her head out into the river. "

Looking up, he saw that they had struck the bank and come nearcapsizing. And he saw more than that; scarcely two yards away a pairof glowing eyes shone out at him. 

"For the sake of God, make haste, " cried Spurling; "the brute's aboutto pounce. "

With a twist of the paddle he swung the canoe's head round, and withthe help of Spurling drove her out. They were none too early, for, just behind them, where a moment since the canoe had been hanging, they heard a splash. 

For the rest of the night they kept watch over themselves lest theyslept. Till the dawn broke, whenever they turned their eyes toward thebank, they could discern the grey streak of the timber-wolf, dodgingin and out between the tree-trunks, keeping pace with them. So long asthey were on the Forbidden River they journeyed both day and night, allowing themselves scant time for rest. If they had been eager to getthere, they were still more anxious to get away. When in the middle ofthe third night they swung out into the Last Chance, they stopped andlooked back. The moon was shining; sitting squarely on its haunchesthey could see the timber-wolf, which had run out on the spit of landto the water's edge, gazing after them malignantly. 

Breaking the long silence, Spurling said, "Thank God, he can come nofurther. "

"But his body awaits us at Murder Point, " Granger replied. 

"I can deal with men's bodies, " Spurling said. Then they moved onward, pressing up against the current. 

At the first hint of daylight they landed and hid themselves, lest, inthat deserted land, their presence should be detected. The precautionproved wise, for about noon a party of belated voyageurs passednorthward en route for the Crooked Creek. They were singing, keepingtime with their paddles; their careless gladness made the hunted men, for all their gold, feel envious. 

They dared not kindle a fire, and at last, that they might save thelittle warmth they had, were compelled to lie down together, breast tobreast, clasping one another closely as though they were friends. Atsunset they again set out. All night long to Granger the sky seemedfilled with uncouth legendary animals, which trooped across thehorizon file on file. Sometimes they were Beorn's camels, sometimesthey were timber-wolves or brindled huskies with yellow faces, butmore often they were creatures of evil passions, for which there areno names. To avoid looking at them, he would keep his eyes in thecanoe or would stare at Spurling's back. But the sight of hiscompanion's monotonous movements, compelling him to go on working whenhis arms ached and his body seemed broken, caused such mad fury toarise within him that he feared for his own actions, and was glad toreturn his eyes to the clouds. At dawn, as though a golden door hadbeen opened, the creatures passed in and disappeared, and he saw themno more till sunset. 

For himself, he would gladly have lain down, and died, had notSpurling with the same indomitable courage which he had displayed onthe Dawson trail, roused him up and compelled him with his brutaljibes to play the man. By the end of the first day on the Last Chancetheir food gave out, and since leaving the hut all their meals hadbeen scanty; then they would willingly have given a third of the goldwhich they carried in exchange for a hatful of the flour which, intheir greed for nuggets, they had left behind on the Forbidden River'sbanks. If a bird flew over their heads, they dared not fire a gun lestits report should be heard, so great was their fear of possiblearrest. 

As their weakness increased, the downward rush of the current seemedto gather strength; there were times when their progress was almostimperceptible. Sufficient snow had already fallen to cloak the land inwhiteness, and they were very conscious that every day thetemperature, was sinking lower. In the middle of the seventh night oftheir journey they felt something grate against their prow, and theyknew that the river was freezing over. They had only five more milesto traverse; they were too exhausted and stiff with cold to attempt toreach their destination by walking along the bank, even if they hadbeen willing to abandon their treasure; so there was nothing for itbut to make one last effort. So nerveless were they with fatigue that, when they went by the bend, Spurling forgot to be afraid of the thingwhich he had seen there; he had not the strength to remember. Theyreached the pier when the dawn was breaking, so faint that they couldnot rise and crawl out. They would have drifted back over the waywhich they had travelled, had not the ice closed in and held them. 

Two hours after their arrival, Eyelids looked out from the window atMurder Point and, seeing them, came to their rescue and lifted theminto the shack. 

They had arrived none too early, for that day the river froze over, the snow fell in earnest, and the Keewatin winter settled down. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE BETRAYAL

Granger had been sick and delirious for several days as a result ofexposure and starvation. Day and night Peggy had nursed him withunwearying attention; one would have supposed that he had been alwayskind to her, and that she was greatly in his debt. Since his brain hadcleared she had said little to him; but, when she touched him, hecould feel the thrill of passion that travelled through her hands. Herface told him nothing; it was only when suddenly she raised up hereyes that he saw the longing which they could not hide. Because hereyes betrayed her, she rarely looked at him. He would gladly havespoken with her frankly, but her reserve deterred him, and, moreover, a great anxiety weighed upon his mind--he did not know how many of hissecrets and hidden intentions he had let out in his ravings. Thealtered bearing of his companions made him aware that they had eachlearnt something fresh about himself, one another, and the manner inwhich he regarded them. The Man with the Dead Soul was aloneunchanged. 

So he sat among them on his couch of furs as morosely as Beornhimself, striving to grope his way back into the darkness from whichhis mind had issued, torturing himself to remember how much his lipshad admitted during the time when his vigilance was relaxed. He couldonly recall the shadows of his words and acts; the real things, whichlurked behind the shadows, continually evaded capture. Yet it seemedto him that he must have laid bare all his life, confessing to Eyelidsand his sister his every affection and his every treachery, whetheraccomplished or intended. 

Then, if he had done that, he had told Peggy to her face how he waspurposing to desert her! It was this suspicion which kept him silent;he waited for her to reveal herself. But she refused to help him; inher looks there was no condemnation, and in her treatment of himnothing but gentleness. Surely there should have been contempt, if shehad known _all_ about him!

Two pictures stood out so sharply from the background chaos of hisimpressions, that he believed them to be veritable memories. The onewas of Peggy kneeling at his side, taking him in her arms, as thoughhe were a child, and laying his head upon her breast, and of himselfmistaking her for his mother or Mordaunt, and speaking to her allmanner of tenderness. The other was of his perpetual terror lestSpurling had gone southward without him, having stolen his share ofthe treasure; and of one night when Peggy to quiet him had roused upEyelids, who had brought in Spurling--and Spurling's hands were bound. 

When he had come to himself, his first action had been to look roundfor Spurling--and he was not there. Two days had now passed, and therewas still no sign of him. As his strength returned, the fear of hisdelirium gained ground upon him--lest Spurling had escaped. Broodingover the past with a sick man's fancy, he discovered a new cause foragitation--_if Spurling had departed, he would never know the truthabout Mordaunt_. For the recovery of the gold he scarcely cared now;the apparent actualness of Mordaunt's presence, bending over him inhis delirium, had recalled her vividly to his memory, awakening thepassion which he had striven to crush down, so that now it seemedall-important to him that he should ask Spurling that one question, "Was the body that was found near Forty-Mile clothed in a woman'sdress?"

The return of a certain season, which the mind has associated with aspecial experience, will often arouse and poignantly concentrate anold emotion, which has been almost forgotten throughout the othermonths of the year. The arrival of Spurling, and the agony which hehad suffered when he had begun to suspect that the woman whom he lovedwas dead, had happened when the snow was on the ground; perhaps it wasthe sight of the frozen river and the white landscape which now causedhim to remember so furiously the vengeance which he had planned, should Mordaunt prove to be the woman whom Spurling had murdered. So, for the time being, the seeking of El Dorado and preserving of his ownlife seemed paltry objects when compared with the asking of thatquestion, and the exacting, if need be, of the necessary revenge. 

On the third day after the recovery of his senses he could endure hissuspicions no longer. Peggy had gone out for a little while; Eyelidswas busy in the store; only the Man with the Dead Soul was left withhim in the shack. Seizing his opportunity, he got up and dressed. Hewas so weak that at first he could scarcely stand. Tottering towardthe door, he already had his hand upon the latch when Beorn arose andfollowed him. Though Granger had asked him no question, "I will showyou, " he said. 

Outside they met Peggy returning; but her father waved her sternlyaside, and, putting his arms about Granger to support him, guided himto the back of Bachelors' Hall. A stoutly built cabin was there, whichstood by itself and was windowless, the door of which was iron-boundand padlocked; it was used as a cell in which Indians and half-breedswere kept, should they grow refractory. Producing the key, he openedthe door; as they entered they were greeted with a volley of curses. 

In the farthest corner lay a man, crouched on a bed of mouldy furs. The cell was not often used, and was covered with decayingfungus-growth from the dampness of the past summer. When Granger triedto speak to him, his voice was drowned by the sort of noise that a dogmakes when it comes out from its kennel; then he saw that Spurling waschained low down to the floor by his hands and feet, so that he couldnot stand upright. With an hysteric cry of gladness he ran forward, and was only saved from Spurling's teeth, as he bent back his head, byBeorn, who pushed him to one side so heavily that he fell to theground. Then Eyelids came in, and picked him up and carried him backto the shack. 

For the next few days he had plenty of leisure to reflect. He wonderedwhether Beorn's treatment of Spurling, and the fact that he had shownhim to him on the earliest occasion, was meant as a threat to himself;or had the disclosures which he had made in his delirium given him theimpression that he also was entirely Spurling's enemy. The bearing ofEyelids and of Peggy led him to believe that the latter suppositionwas correct. His natural instinct was to free the man at once, --buthe thought better of it; Spurling would be at least kept out ofmischief there till he himself was well. 

Now that his mind was at ease, he commenced to mend rapidly; when twomore days had passed, he was up and able to get about without muchhelp. On visiting the trading-store he found that his canoe was lyingthere, just as he had brought it back; nothing of its contents hadbeen removed or unpacked. He sat down beside it, and tried toformulate his plans. 

So far, in spite of his illness, everything had happened for the best. Spurling was safe until he should require him. The gold was now in hisabsolute possession. Very shortly Eyelids and Beorn would set out ontheir winter's hunt, leaving him, save for Peggy, free to actunobserved. But he had made a discovery, the knowledge of whichdisturbed him--that a part, at least, of the reason for Peggy'sreticence and new gentleness was that before long she would be amother. That fact made him feel differently towards her; he could notnow desert her, for it would mean abandoning his child. 

When he pictured to himself what the Northland might do for a childwho was fatherless, especially if it were a girl, he knew that, whatever plans he made, they must include his half-breed wife. Moreover, her approaching maternity appealed to the chivalry in hisnature, making him ashamed that he had ever thought to leave her. Until his child was born, at whatever risk to himself, he mustpostpone his departure and lie in hiding at Murder Point. And afterthat? He must take her into his confidence, as he should have donelong ago, as if she were all white. He would have to leave her behindat first, but would make arrangements for her to follow after him whenthe road was clear. 

Having arrived at this point, his train of reasoning was broken off bythe appearance of Eyelids, who came to ask for two outfits, and toinform him that he and Beorn had determined to set out on the wintertrail that night. The rest of the day was spent in preparations, andthe getting together of their teams of huskies. 

Just before they left, a visit was paid to Spurling in the cabin, andthe key was handed over to Granger. While there, Granger referred tothe matter which he had been wanting to mention all day. Turning toEyelids, as though it were of little importance, he said, "Before youreturn, as I daresay you've noticed, something will have happened. Iwant you to promise me to come back for Christmas Eve, so that we maycelebrate the event. " Then, throwing aside his disguise ofindifference, he spoke more earnestly, "I want you and Beorn topromise me that. "

Spurling looked sharply up from his corner; being ignorant of thematter which Granger hinted at, he watched to see if the wordscontained a reference to himself. Peggy turned her head away and beganto steal softly out. But her brother stayed her, and throwing his armabout her shoulder, said, "I promise you; we shall return. " And Beorngave him his hand as a sign of his assent. 

They closed and locked the door on the prisoner, and the father andson set out. 

A sudden instinct for carefulness had prompted him to make thatrequest. At the last moment he had thought that he noticed on Beorn'spart a certain uneasiness in handing over to him the custody ofSpurling. He was afraid that the distrust might grow upon him, causinghim to return unexpectedly, perhaps just at the time when he andSpurling were starting on their southward journey. It was to preventsuch an interference with his plans that he had named a definite timefor their next meeting, for, by so doing, he had given Beorn tounderstand that he intended to remain at Murder Point throughoutDecember. The hinting at the birth of his child had added to hisrequest a show of naturalness, and had at the same time let them knowthat he was aware of his wife's condition--a difficult knowledge tocommunicate to people who spoke rarely, and then only of trivialaffairs. As yet he had not decided as to when he would set out, for hehesitated between the manfully fulfilling of his new responsibilityand the callously accomplishing of his old purpose; if he shouldchoose the latter, he had provided for Peggy so that she would not beleft too long by herself, by the promise which he had exacted from herbrother and father to return for Christmas Eve. 

For the first time he was left truly alone with her. Standing side byside, they watched the trappers descend the Point to the pier, wheretheir dogs lay waiting them. The whips cracked and the teamsstraightened out. 

For a few strides they moved toward the opposite bank and then, toGranger's amazement, wheeled to the left, and commenced travellingup-river to the west. The loaded sleds swung lightly over the ice and, as he listened, the shouting of the drivers and the yelping of thehuskies grew fainter, till they were no more heard. He was madeterribly afraid by the direction they had taken, for he knew thatBeorn's trapping grounds had always lain to the northwards, and neveraround God's Voice; they were still less likely to do so now, since hehad quarrelled with the factor. Then why had he gone to the west?

He turned to the girl at his side to question her, "Did you know thatthey were going there?" he said. She did not answer him; he saw thather eyes were intently fixed upon the bend. Her lips moved, and herhands made the sign of the cross upon her breast as if she werepraying. Without replying, she entered the shack. 

He did not follow her, for his feelings were changed with anger. Hefelt that, whether knowingly or unknowingly, they had betrayed himthrough their secretiveness. While he had been absent they must haveheard that Spurling was a man with a price upon his head. They mighteven have learnt it from Pilgrim at the time of his June visit, buthad not laid hands upon him because he had appeared to be his friend. But now since their return, in his delirium he had probably utteredwords concerning Spurling which had left them with the impression thathe desired his death--and had given them their excuse for gratifyingtheir own covetousness and revenge for the Forbidden River trespass. 

Even what he had said to them about returning for Christmas Eve mighthave been taken as having a double meaning, referring not only to thebirth of the child, but also to the thousand-dollar reward to begained by the arrest. Spoken as it was, in the prison-cabin, that wasmost likely how it had been taken. Since they had accepted him astheir confederate, it seemed evident that they did not know that thearrest of Spurling might entail his own hanging. If all that he hadconjectured was true, he had now no option but to release Spurling andto make good his escape with him at once; for from Murder Point toGod's Voice was no more than seventy miles. At once! But he would notbe strong enough to travel for some days yet, and Spurling could notbe in very excellent condition for such a journey--to be thrown intoan out-house and left there for a fortnight, with back bent double andarms and legs bound, is not the best kind of training. 

Before doing anything rash he would talk to Peggy, and find out howmuch she knew about it. Following her into the shack, he made fast thedoor and threw himself on the pile of furs which had been his couch. The lamp was not lighted, but the stove was red-hot and scattered anangry glare. He called to her; she came to him timidly from the farend of the room and sat down beside him. He commenced abruptly bytelling her that the man who was chained out there in the cabin was amurderer. Did she know that? She nodded. How did she know that? Sheshuddered, and pointed with her hand out of the window in thedirection of the bend. 

He did not gather what she meant, but for the present he let it pass. 

And did she know that there were a thousand dollars offered forSpurling's capture? She shrugged her shoulders, and again gave herassent. Then, raising himself on his elbow, he asked her plainly, "Isthat what Eyelids has gone to get?"

She smiled down at him as though she were owning to something worthy;"I hope so, " she said. 

"Why do you hope so, " he asked in a hard voice; "because of themoney?"

She drew back from him as though he had affronted her. "No, not forthat, " she said, speaking slowly. 

"Then why?"

"Because he is trying to take you away from me. "

"And you think that when the Mounted Police have hanged him that itwill be all right, and I shall stay here?"

She did not answer him, but he knew that she was thinking of herchild. "Whether Spurling escapes or is taken, " he said, "will make nodifference to my doings. I cannot stay; they are hunting for me, because they think I also am a murderer. "

She turned sharply round. "But we are doing this to save you; wethought that you agreed and understood. When you have given them thisman, they will pardon you, and you will be allowed to stay. "

"Who told you that? Was it Antoine?"

"Robert Pilgrim. "

He laughed in her face. "Bah! Robert Pilgrim!" he exclaimed. "He toldyou that, and you believed him! Why, you little fool, he doesn't carea curse what happens to Spurling, whether he's caught or gets away;it's me that he's anxious to put to death. But he couldn't have toldyou that when we were in hiding on Huskies' Island, or you'd havebetrayed us then. "

"He sent word to us by a messenger while you were away. But, if I hadknown, I shouldn't have betrayed you then, for this man seemed to beat that time your friend. "

"Then why have you done so now?"

"Because he has become your enemy and you hate him; and because thereis no other way of saving you for my child and for myself. He istrying to take you away from me. " She spoke in a fierce strainedwhisper, kneeling, with her hands spread out before her, and her headthrown back. 

"You haven't saved me, " he said, rising to his feet angrily; "allyou've done is to place the rope about my neck. "

CHAPTER XIX

THE HAND IN THE DOORWAY

He picked up a lantern and, having lighted it, left the shack. Goinground the out-building of the store, he made his way through the snowto the cabin where Spurling was imprisoned. As he placed the key inthe padlock, he could hear the rattle of the chains of the man inside. Having opened the door, he halted on the threshold, afraid and ashamedto enter. There was dead silence. Lifting the lantern above his head, he could make out the figure of Spurling, crouched like a beast onknees and hands, with eyes which watched him doubtfully. 

"They have gone, " he said. 

Spurling did not answer, but followed his every movement. 

"They have gone, " he repeated; "but they have not gone to theForbidden River--they have gone in the direction of God's Voice. "

Then Spurling spoke. "Thank God, " he said, "for they'll hang you aswell. "

Granger placed the lantern on the floor and sat himself down. "Spurling, " he said, "we both of us have some old scores to pay off;at the present moment, I happen to have the upper hand. But this isnot the time to settle them. For instance, you have never told me thename of the woman whom you shot in the Klondike. "

Spurling broke in furiously, saying, "I have told you already, thatit was not a woman I murdered, but a man. "

Granger waved him aside with his hand. "I'm not asking you her name, "he said. "We've not got the time to quarrel, for there is still achance of our saving ourselves. It'll take Beorn and Eyelids at leastfour days to reach God's Voice and come back. But I don't thinkthey'll touch at God's Voice at all; they'll skirt it and go farthersouth. They won't trust Robert Pilgrim, lest he should claim a part ofthe reward. If I know Eyelids, it's the thousand dollars he's after, and he wants it all for himself. Their purpose is to go on until theymeet the winter patrol, so that they may be able to give directinformation to the Mounted Police themselves. Now before they do that, a good deal of time may be lost, for the winter patrol has hardlystarted as yet, and it may go in a new direction so that they'll missit at first. With the best of luck, they'll have to travel threehundred miles, a ten days' journey, before they fall in with it. Whilethey're searching for it, we shall be able to slip by them and getout. If you'll promise to stand by me I'll release you. If you won't, I shall leave you here and go on myself. But I warn you fairly, noman, unless he leaves the gold behind him, can make that journey byhimself with any hope of surviving. Our last chance, whether we wantto reach El Dorado or merely to save our lives, is to stick togetherand persuade ourselves that we are friends. "

"I'll stand by you, " Spurling said; "I'm no more anxious to die by therope or starvation than you are yourself. But what are we to do withthe half-breed woman--your wife? To leave her behind us, free to gowhere she chooses, would be suicide. "

Granger eyed him angrily, for he did not like the sinister whisper inwhich he had asked that question. He might just as well have said, "Shall I shoot her while you go outside and scrape out her grave?" Butto have paid attention to it just then would have brought them to highwords at the outset; so he said, "We can't take her with us, for sheis soon to have a child. But I think, when I have explained things toher, she'll give us her promise to keep our secret, and we shall beable to trust her word. "

"Humph! You think that? Well, knock off these chains. "

Granger brought the lantern nearer and was stooping to his work, whenSpurling stopped him, laying his hand upon his shoulder. "Hist! What'sthat?" he said. Granger listened. He could distinctly hear the crunchof footsteps on the snow, moving stealthily away from the cabin. Running to the door, he caught sight of a woman's skirt, disappearinground the corner of the store, and recognised the shadow which wasflung behind as Peggy's. She must have heard all that they had said. 

Spurling waited till his chains were off and he was able to standupright, a free man. Then he asked significantly, "And now what areyou going to do with her?"

"That is my business, " Granger retorted hotly. 

"But I think that it is also mine. "

He knew that it would be unwise to argue the point, so he led the wayto Bachelors' Hall, Spurling limping stiffly behind. So cramped had hebecome with the cold, and the position in which he had been chainedduring his confinement, that he could hardly move a step withoutgroaning. Until he should recover, despite his own weakness, Grangerknew that he was physically the stronger and still had the upper hand. For Peggy's sake he intended to make the best use of his time; hebegan to have fears for her as to what might happen were she left tothe mercy of Spurling's choice. 

"What are we coming here for?" growled Spurling, as they stopped atthe door of the hall; "why can't we go to the shack? I'm desperatelycold and there's a fire there. "

"I'll light you a fire, " said Granger, placing his hands on hisshoulders and thrusting him inside. 

"You're mighty anxious that I shouldn't get near your wife, " saidSpurling; "she must be very valuable. "

Granger went off and soon returned with fuel. The stove was damp andrusty, and did not draw well at first, so that all the room was filledwith smoke. Spurling had stumbled over to the shelf and lay therecomplaining. When the wood had caught and was burning brightly, Granger fetched him something to eat and then went out to speak withPeggy, leaving him alone, promising to return again to spend thenight. 

When he had entered the shack, it appeared to be empty. He calledPeggy's name, but she did not reply. Listening intently, he heard thesound of sobbing which she was endeavouring to stifle. Going over tothe berth he found her lying there, with face turned to the wall. Sitting down beside her, he placed his arms about her, and tried tomake her turn his way, but she refused to be comforted. 

"Peggy, " he said, "you heard what we were saying in the cabin? Youremember how I said that I was able to trust your word. I want you topromise me that you will not tell anyone that we have left, and thatyou will not try to follow until I send to tell you that all is safe, so that you can come to me. "

"You will never send, " she said. 

"Why do you say that?"

"Because that man will quarrel with you and kill you on the way out. "

"That's nonsense; you must listen to what I have planned. This summerwe found gold on the Forbidden River. "

"I know that. "

"Who told you?"

"Eyelids. "

"Why did he tell you?"

"He found it himself in the spring, when father sent him up thereafter Spurling; and he was angry when he knew that you had gone there, because he wanted it for himself. "

"Did he stop here all summer?"

"Yes, but father went away. I think he must have followed you. He gotback four days before your return. "

"Humph! I suspected that, for I saw something that was very like himthere. . . . And do you still think that they have gone to tell theMounted Police only in order that Spurling may be arrested?"

"I don't know; but that's what they said. I chose to believe thembecause that was the only way in which I could keep you for myself. "

"Well, then, listen. No matter what Eyelids and Beorn may intend, ifthe Mounted Police once get hold of me the result will be that I shallget hanged. The one way in which you can keep me for yourself is tohelp me to escape. I can't take you with me as you are at present; youknow that. And I can't strike the trail alone; I must have someone tohelp me take the gold out. There's no one but Spurling. Besides, I'vepromised to stick by him; he saved my life once, and I'm paying backthe debt. When once I've reached Winnipeg, I'll be able to purchasefriends who will hide me, if need be; but I hope to get there ahead ofthe news of my escape, before the police have my description and areon the lookout. I shall strike for the south, and, when the hunt isover and I'm given up for dead, I'll send you word where you can joinme. "

"You never will do that. "

"And why not?"

"Because you will be dead. "

Granger was losing patience. Whatever reasoning he used, he could notmove her beyond that one assertion. 

"Won't you help me to take the one chance of life that I think Ihave?" he said. "It can't make much difference to you if Spurling doeskill me on the trail; if I stay here, I shall die a few weeks later, more disgracefully. "

She stood up and led him over to the window, through which the moonwas shining, so that he could see her face. She placed her arms abouthis neck, as if she were a white woman. "I will tell you the truthnow, " she said; "I have been keeping something back that I might saveyou from yourself. Since you joined with this man and helped him takethe gold from the Forbidden River, Eyelids and my father have bothbecome your enemies. The factor did send his message that your lifewould be spared if Spurling was given up, but I think he was speakingfalsely. I have tried to keep you near me because I alone, if need be, can stand between you and them. If you set out with Spurling, he willkill you; and if you stay here, you will be arrested. But if you willcome with me into the forest, we can join some Indians of my mother'stribe, and they will hide us where you never can be found. "

Granger watched her while she was speaking, wondering whether he washearing the very truth this time. "And, if I do as you ask me, whatwill happen to Spurling?" he said. 

She drew him nearer to herself. "I hate that man, " she whispered; "lethim die as he deserves. "

"And why didn't you tell me everything at first?"

"Because you are not strong enough to make the journey yet; and Iwanted to keep you resting here, till you had no other choice ofsaving yourself but by following me into the forest. While my fatherwas present, I did not dare to tell you--_for his soul is dead_. "

Granger took his eyes from off her face; she tempted him--he had beenso long unused to kindness. He gazed out of the window, far awayacross the frozen forest, and heard the dream of his boyhood callingto him to seek the city out of sight. His choice lay between thiswoman and El Dorado, in whose search he had wasted all his life. Hedid not deceive himself, whatever he might say aloud; his hesitancydid not arise out of unwillingness to desert Spurling, but fromunwillingness to abandon the quest while a fragment of hope remained. With that stolen gold, if he could slip by the winter patrol and carryit out to Winnipeg, he would be able to strike for the south and sailup the Great Amana, past the rocks with the forgotten handwriting, till he came to the lake of Parima, on whose shores the city is saidto stand. 

She saw that his will was wavering and that his choice was goingagainst her. Seizing his hands in her own and pressing them to herbreast, "I am only a poor half-breed girl, " she cried, "but I am soonto be the mother of your child; and our child will be nearly all whitelike yourself. You can't think what my life was before you came to me;for, though my body is half Indian, my mind has become a white woman'ssince I went to school in Winnipeg. I am so white that I would die foryou to-morrow, if I could give you life by doing that. I could nottell you this before, while my father and brother were present;somehow, with their silence they stifled my words, and made me silent. But don't judge me by the past months, believe me now. "

"Peggy, " he said, "what should we do in the forest, if we went thereand joined your mother's tribe? We should starve, and grow sullen; andyou would be treated as a squaw, and our child would grow up anIndian. "

"But I should not mind that if only we were together. "

"But we shall be together if my plan works out and I manage to escape. Then there's Spurling; however much I hate him, I cannot break mypromise to him and leave him to die. "

She dropped his hands and drew away from him. "You are going to meetthe white woman, " she said; "you had planned to desert me whateverhappened. "

"Who told you that?"

"Your lips told me, when you were sick and they moved of themselves. "

"But I promise you now that, when I am safe, I will send you word sothat you can find me. If I ever did think of deserting you, it wasbefore I knew that we were going to have a child. "

"You will not send for me, " she said; "but I promise that I will donothing to you that will hinder you from going out. "

"But what will you do when I am gone, and you yourself will be needinghelp?"

"I shall go, like any other squaw, to the Indian women of my tribe. "

There was nothing more to be said; she had given him what he hadasked. Bidding her good-night, he left the shack. 

On returning to the Hall, he found Spurling very restless. "What haveyou been doing all this time?" he asked. "I'd got a good mind to comein search of you. I thought you must have struck the trail with yoursquaw, leaving me behind. "

Granger pretended not to notice his ill-nature, but told him what hehad arranged. They talked matters over and determined to make a starton the following night. Neither of them were in proper condition totravel, but they knew that they had no time to waste. Before they laydown to sleep, Spurling altered his position, spreading his fursbetween the stove and the entrance, with his head so near thethreshold that the door could not be opened wide enough to permit ofanyone passing out without his being wakened; Granger smiled grimly, wondering how long it would take them to quarrel at that rate, whenone of them thought it necessary to take such precautions. Spurlingwas soon snoring, but Granger could get no rest. The night wasbitterly cold, and the fire needed constant replenishing. It seemed tohim that no sooner had he piled on more wood, and wrapped himself inhis blankets, and laid himself down, than he would feel thetemperature lowering, and a chill passing over his body like an icyhand, beginning at his feet and working up to his head. Shivering andwith teeth chattering, he would raise himself up on his elbow, only tosee that the wood was again burnt through and that the fire was goingout. 

At last he determined to give up the attempt to sleep. Pulling a boxnear the stove and using it as a back-rest, he gathered his blanketstightly round him and lit his pipe. 

Across his shoulders, through the window behind him, fell a shaft ofmoonlight; in front of him, dazzling his eyes, was the redness of theglowing charcoal, and the yellow of the jumping flames; withinhand-stretch to the right lay Spurling, with his feet toward the fireand his head within six inches of the threshold. In the greatstillness which was outside, nothing was to be heard save the rustlingof the snow as it bound tighter, and the occasional low booming of thetrees as the frost, acting on the sap, bent their branches. 

With his accustomed passion for fairness, he commenced to examine hisdealings with Peggy and to try to regard his actions from herview-point. In his recent conversation with her she had revealedqualities the existence of which he had not suspected; he had notreckoned her at her true worth. He began to be uncertain even now asto whether he was doing right in leaving her. Perhaps she, for all herignorance, was wiser than himself. But of one thing she had made himcertain, that of all creatures which walked, and talked, and ate, anddrank, upon the earth, she alone stood by him in his crisis for anunselfish reason, and loved him for himself. He knew now, though hehad not realised it until that night, that he loved her in return, half-breed though she was, and could not do without her. He waswilling to own to himself that, in his treatment of her, he had notalways been just and, because of her race, at times had beendespising. He'd been more or less of a fool, and had refused a gooddeal of available happiness. 

He looked towards the door; if it had not been for the unpleasantnessof awaking Spurling, he would have gone at once to the shack and saidto her, "I don't mind who you are, I love you better than any whitegirl, and would prefer you from amongst them all, were I again givenmy choice. " Before he set out, he would like to have her believe thathe was going, at least partly, for her sake. 

The smoke from the burning wood made his eyes grow heavy; he began todrowse. He dreamt that he had taken Peggy's advice and had gone withher into the forest, having joined himself to the people of her tribe. It must have happened years ago, for their child was a sturdy boy whoran beside them. She was leading the way through a dark wood, holdinghim by the hand. He asked her where she was going, and for answer shelaid her finger on his lips and only smiled. On and on they went, andthen, far away in the distance, he began to see a little light. Itgrew brighter and more dazzling as they approached, so that he had toclose his eyes. Presently she halted and told him to look. He wasstanding on the edge of a precipice, in the side of which steps hadbeen hewn out, and far below was a silver lake which he knew to beParima; and far away was a gleaming of domes and spires which herecognised. He was about to speak to thank her, when he tottered andhis feet sank from under him. As he fell, he stared up at her; thelast thing he saw was the expression of agony that was in her eyes. 

He awoke with a start, but his instinct warned him not to stir. Theshaft of moonlight had been blotted out, and he knew that someone, standing outside, behind him, was gazing in through the window. It wasnot Spurling, for he lay breathing heavily, fast asleep, over to hisright. As he crouched there motionless, he ran through the list of allpossible assailants in his mind. It might be Beorn or Eyelids. Itmight be Robert Pilgrim. It might even be the Mounted Police, arrivedbefore their time. It might be only a renegade trapper of the HudsonBay Company, who had come by night, that he might not be discovered, to see if the private trader would offer a higher price for his catchof furs. Then the darkness was removed, and the light shone in again. Quickly turning his head, he looked toward the window, and saw nothingthere. Very quietly he rose to his feet, tiptoed to the window andlooked out. At first he could see no one; then he saw the outer edgeof a figure, pressed close to the wall of the house, standing uprightbeside the door-jamb. He crept back from the panes, so that he shouldnot obscure the little light he had. Moving over to the right, hehalted mid-way between the window and Spurling. 

He could hear the muffled breathing of the person outside and couldalmost feel the pressure of his body against the wall on the otherside. In the few seconds' respite, while nothing happened, he glancedround, taking in the situation and trying to forecast the probablesequence of action. Since Spurling had lain down, he had altered hisposition, so that now his body stretched across the entrance, with hishead in the corner where the two walls met, forming an acute anglewith the threshold so that, though he prevented the door from openingmore than two or three inches, directly it was opened his person wouldbe visible, and exposed to attack. 

Gently the latch was raised and, by slow degrees, the door began toswing inwards. The slit which it made let in a narrow ray ofmoonlight, which, leaving Spurling's face in shadow, fell slantingacross his neck. If he had not moved in his sleep, his head would havebeen farther out from the wall, and the light, striking on his eyeswould have aroused him; as it was, he was undisturbed. Alert with thehorror of it, Granger watched to see what would follow next. Theperson on the other side, peering through the opening, had been warnedby the same sight of the exposed bare neck, and, desisting frompushing the door wider, was deliberating. 

When a short interval had elapsed, he saw a hand thrust through thecrack; it gripped a trapper's hunting knife, with the blade pointingdownwards, and was poised about to strike. Granger was unarmedhimself; there was but one thing that could be done to save hiscomrade's life. Flinging all his weight upon the door, he closed it, imprisoning the assailant's hand above the wrist joint. The knifeclattered to the floor, where it stuck out quivering, grazingSpurling's cheek as it fell. The hand tried to wrench itself free, thefingers opening and closing convulsively, but there was no sound fromoutside. 

Spurling awoke with a cry, and clapping his hand to his face found itwet with blood. He rose to his feet with his fists clenched, and thelook of a wild beast at bay in his eyes. His lips were working withnervousness and desire to fight. "What is it?" he whispered. "Havethey come to take us?"

Granger signed to him to stand back and keep quiet. Then he followedthe direction of Granger's eyes, and he also saw the hand. Bendingdown, with his back against the door, Granger examined it. It wasbrown and slim--far too small for a man's hand, and far too dusky tobelong to a person who was white. The light, stealing in through theaperture, showed it plainly and fell along its length; the fingers hadceased to writhe and were extended, as if the thing had died. 

While Granger had been looking, Spurling also had seen and hadsurmised. Coming swiftly forward, he stooped to pick up the knife. Granger read his purpose and, as he leant forward to pluck it from theboards, kicked him heavily in the chest, so that he lost his balanceand fell sprawling on his back. Before he could recover himself, hehad opened the door and released the hand. Possessing himself of theknife, he set his back against the door again to prevent Spurling fromfollowing. There was a little cry of gladness, and the sound offootsteps rustling the snow as they hurried away. 

For the remainder of the long night, he stood guard over the man whomhe had rescued. When the dawn broke and he visited the shack, he foundthat Peggy had vanished. 

CHAPTER XX

SPURLING TAKES FRIGHT

If Spurling had suspected Granger before, he was doubly suspicious ofhim now. Wherever he went, his heavy treacherous eyes followed andspied upon him. In one thing only were they united--in their desire tosee the last of Murder Point. For the accomplishment of this end, theylaboured feverishly in sullen silence. On visiting the dog-pen, theyfound that of the eleven huskies which had been there, three weremissing; of the eight which remained, four were the animals left overfrom the grey team belonging to Spurling, and these were the best. This meant that they would be able to harness but four dogs apiece toa sled, and would have to leave some of their wealth behind, limitingeach outfit together with the gold to not more than three hundredpounds. On examining his clothing, Granger found that his favouritecapote was not there; he conjectured that Peggy had taken that also inher hurry. 

They went to the store and selected their provisions with care, takingno flour or canned goods, but tallow and fat bacon, because this foodis least bulky and affords most nourishment. For the same reason, instead of the usual allowance for a husky of two raw white fish aday, they took lumps of grease frozen solid. Of the gold they tookmostly dust, because it packed closer than nuggets. This they dividedinto equal shares and poured into moose-hide sacks, which they lashedto the bottom of their sleds, with their outfit above. 

They clothed themselves warmly for the journey, for already there wereforty degrees of frost, and this was but November. They put on threeflannel shirts apiece and one of duffel, and over them a beaded shirtof leather. They swathed their feet in duffel, covering them with highmoccasins, and encased their legs in several wrappings of duffelleggins. Their caps were of fur, the hair of which reached down overtheir foreheads, ears, and necks, giving them protection. Over allthey flung capotes, which extended to their knees and were caught inat the waist with a scarlet sash. 

Having fed the huskies, Granger returned to the shack, to run throughhis belongings and destroy whatever he did not wish to be found. Heturned to Spurling, saying, "You'd better lie down now and get alittle rest. "

Spurling blinked at him, and swallowed once or twice, hesitating. Thenhe said, "It's a pleasant meeting that they'll have, with two of usabsent. "

Granger was sorting out old letters, dated years back--things whichbrought memories. He did not pay any attention; perhaps he had notheard. 

"It's a pleasant meeting that they'll have, I say, with two of usabsent, " Spurling repeated. 

"What meeting? I don't understand. "

"Why, the meeting you promised them on Christmas Eve--the one you wereso pressing about. "

Granger raised up his head and looked at him. "Don't you be so certainof that, " he said; "we may not be absent--we may be caught by Eyelidsand brought back. "

Spurling cursed him under his breath. 

Granger went on sorting out his papers, burning them or putting themaside. Some were from his mother; one was from his father, faded withage; and some were from girls whose very names had passed from hisremembrance. Presently he stopped, and turning round again, with adifferent look in his eyes, handed a page to his companion, saying, "Read that. "

Spurling laughed harshly and took it. It was in his own handwriting. "None of your softness, " he said. "I've got long past sentiment. "

Granger watched him as he scanned its contents, and saw his face growsolemn. It had been written seven years back, before they had leftEngland, when both their sympathies were fresher, before their soulshad grown tarnished. It read: "John, I've just seen the unemployed, about four battalions of 'em or from two to three thousandmen--unemployed, half-clothed, half-fed, and half-men. God! that sucha sight could be in this world, and here in London; our London, wealthy London, the city of luxury and at our own doors. Fourbattalions of men in real want; not a want such as you and I know whenwe run short of our damned tobacco, but a want when the belly is sickand empty and has no prospect of being filled--a want of necessities. Four battalions of men in want, and how many children and women doesthat represent? God's hooligans, God's scamps, and God's wrecks! '_Hiswrecks_, ' how can I write such words. How pitiable are their physicalconditions, their privation and distress of body! But what of theirsouls, the starvation of their minds? Why, I doubt if they couldsubscribe a respectable soul among the whole four battalions. 

"Males who might have been men and of some use in the world, if onlya finger had shown them the road instead of shoving 'em down intowrecks and damnation. 

"I can write no more. I must go out and walk about. "

Spurling gulped down a sob, and without comment crunched the sheet upin his hand, and flung it towards the stove; but it fell short androlled to where Granger was standing. He stooped, picked it up andsmoothed it out. "I'll put it in my pocket, " he said, "to rememberwhat we were; we may need the reminder on our journey. "

"Damn your softness, " Spurling broke out. "I want to forget the past, and to live like the beast I am. How could I shoot down even an Indianto defend myself, if I were to remember things like that! It's goldthat's changed me; and now that I've got it I intend, at all costs, towin out. "

"Yes, it's gold that's changed us, " Granger said. 

Presently he paused again. "I had intended to keep that to threatenyou with, but you can have it now, " he said. 

Spurling rose up from the floor, and coming over to the table took thepaper from him. It was the warrant for his arrest. His hand shook ashe read it. 

"Granger, how did you get that?" he asked in a low voice. "Was it fromStrangeways?"

On the spur of the moment, to avoid the direct answering of thequestion and that he might learn the exact truth about something else, he drew forth the locket from his breast. 

"What's that?" asked Spurling. "Another reminder?"

"Come and look for yourself. "

"I don't want to remember, I tell you. "

"But this has something to do with the answer to your question. "

Spurling came behind and looked over his shoulder carelessly, notexpecting to see anything which was of much concern. Then he started, so violently that the portrait fell from Granger's hand. "My God, it_was_ a woman!" he moaned. "A woman! A woman!"

Granger turned upon him, willing to be angry; but he saw that he hadno need of further revenge. The man's body seemed to have shrunk intoitself, and to have grown smaller. His lower jaw hung down, giving apurposeless expression to the face and mouth. The eyes were vacant andstared out on space, focussing nothing. Whatever anger he had had wasturned to pity as he regarded him. So Spurling had not known thatMordaunt was a woman! And the body which was found at Forty-Mile hadnot been clothed in a woman's dress! How Strangeways must be laughingout there, alone in the coldness, three feet beneath the snow at thebend!

Yet, for all his pity, Granger could not bring himself to touch theman--he looked too absorbed in his tragedy. Out of decency he turnedhis back upon him, hurrying his task to an end. Already he had beentoo long about it; they had no time to linger. Peggy's absence mighthave many purposes; when she returned, she might not comeunaccompanied. Before he made a start, after his night of watching hewould require rest. 

Spurling had drawn away from him and was huddled in a corner, whispering to himself. He must say and do something to brace him up, and show to him that in his eyes he was still a man. If he didn'trecover quickly, they would have to postpone their journey. He was afool to have shown him that. 

The last of the papers had been burned; he tied the few which he hadpreserved into a little bundle, and thrust them in his breast. Goingover to Spurling, he laid his hand on his shoulder and said, "Druce, old fellow, I'm very tired. I want to take an hour's sleep before weset out. You'd best watch and see that nothing happens. In two hoursit'll be sunset; wake me before then. "

He raised up his haggard face and nodded, but he did not look at himsquarely. Granger, having made up the fire, laid himself down. 

When he awoke, he found that the room was in darkness; it must havebeen night for several hours. It was the coldness which had arousedhim, for the fire had gone out. 

He supposed that Spurling must be sleeping, so he called to him, "Spurling, Spurling, are you there?"

There was no answer. He listened for his breathing, but could hearnothing. Getting upon his feet as swiftly as the stiffness of hismuscles would allow, he groped his way over to the corner where he hadlast seen him. He was not there. Then he lit the lamp, and saw thatthe room was empty. 

His first thought was that, in his despair, he had gone outside andshot himself. Recalling his uncanny horror of the bend, he fanciedthat he could trace madness in all his recent actions; but then heremembered that his fear of the bend had been shared. He becamepossessed of a new and more personal dread. What if in giving him thewarrant and showing him the portrait, he had told him too much--morethan his courage and honesty could bear? He rushed to the door of theshack, and out to where the sleds and huskies had been left. One ofthe sleds was gone; his own outfit lay scattered on the snow and thegold had been taken. But he made a yet worse discovery, for of theeight huskies, only two remained; Spurling's four gray dogs and thetwo best of his own team were missing. He looked wildly round on thegreat emptiness. The night pressed down on the earth, as though toimprison it; the forest closed in on the river, menacing and silent;and the river ran on, a level, untravelled roadway, from the west. Heshouted, and cursed, and called down God's vengeance on Spurling. Then, for a moment he was quiet, and heard his own voice coming backto him as an echo from the bend. His voice had tried to escape and wasreturning to him because it could find no way out. 

Crazily turning his face down-river, he shouted, "Hey, Strangeways, may God damn Spurling. "

Muffled, as if the dead man were answering him from underground, thecry came back, "Hey, Strangeways, may God damn Spurling. "

He covered his face with his hands and sat down in the snow laughing. It was all a cruel jest. "Oh, the hypocrite! The hypocrite!" heshrieked. "He came here hunted and I helped him with my life. He hastaken everything, and given me death. "

Through his head ran maddeningly the scraps of the conversation he hadhad with Peggy: "I'll strike for the south, and, when the hunt isover, I'll send you word where you can join me. " "You never will dothat. " "And why not?" "Because you will be dead. "

On all his thought, as if she were sitting at his side, her voicebroke in persistently, drearily and low-pitched reiterating, "Becauseyou will be dead. Because you will be dead. "

A hard look came into his eyes; he ceased from his laughing andwhispering. Turning to the quarter behind his back from which he hadseemed to hear her speaking last, he said quietly, "But I shan't bedead. "

Then he rose up and entered the shack. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE MURDER IN THE SKY

However lightly he travels and however hard the snow may have packed, a man who has only two huskies and is handicapped by a body justrecovered from sickness does not make much speed in winter travelling. 

Through the long hours of the dreary November night Granger, withhard, set face, had pushed on up the Last Chance River, towards God'sVoice, following in Spurling's tracks. It was the gold that hedesired. And if he recaptured it, what then? He was not capable ofcarrying it out to Winnipeg by himself. He knew that his pursuit wasmadness; he had nothing to gain by it but revenge. He was hardlylikely to gain even that, for the man in front of him had three dogsto his one, fuller rations, and a start of several hours; he couldonly hope to overtake him by the happening of some accident. 

Yet he knew that he would overtake him, for he felt, beyond reach ofargument, that Spurling was fated to die by his hand. Both of them hadstriven to avoid it; once he himself had fled that he might not committhe crime, and Spurling was now trying to escape that it might notcome about. No matter what they did, it must happen. Though God should"advance a terrible right arm, " and pluck them apart, and fling themto the opposite extremes of the world, they would surely travel andtravel, perhaps involuntarily, till they came again together. It wouldhave been far better if he had not been interfered with at theShallows and had been permitted to accomplish his enmity there--so, more than three years of futile suffering might have been spared andMordaunt would be still alive. 

He was hardly conscious of any anger; his was the unreasonedrelentless instinct of the pursuing hound. He was savage justice andthe law of self-preservation personified. He was the will of destinydecreeing that Spurling should not reach El Dorado alive. 

The dogs struggled on uncomplainingly; this was their first trip ofthe season and they were still comparatively fresh, though the man wastired. To the eastward the crescent of a faint old moon hung low inthe sky. As Granger ran, he turned his head and, watching it, wasthankful to see that at last the tardy dawn had begun to spread. Overthe withered stretch of woodland to his right the Aurora swept betweenthe stars, like an extinguishing angel, who caused them to flickerand, as he beat his wings about them, one by one to go out. 

It was a morning of bitter coldness. As the breath left his nostrils, he could almost see it congeal and fall to the ground, a filmy sheetof ice. The heads of the huskies were clouded with smoke, so that theyseemed to be on fire as they panted forward dragging on the traces. 

The tracks, which he was following, now branched off to the left, and, mounting the river-bank, entered into a little hollow at the edge ofthe forest. Here, about the base of a tree, the snow had been recentlytrampled and a fire smouldered. It was Spurling's first camp. Granger, having unharnessed and fed his huskies, taking his axe fromhis girdle, cut down a sapling fir and roused the dying embers to ablaze. The flames shot up, and, climbing the bark of the tree, crackled among the branches overhead. Unpacking his tallow he meltedit in a cup. Before it was all drunk, the surface was frozen solid. Then, lest his muscles should stiffen, he set out again. 

The air was full of minute particles of snow, like frozen dew, whichcaused the whole atmosphere, as far as eye could reach, to sparkle inthe sunshine. The sky was greenish grey and without a cloud. Thestillness of the world was magical; in the miles of landscape whichwere visible, nothing stirred. The snapping of a twig sounded like thecrashing ruin of a forest giant. The gliding of the sled across thesnow, and the padding footsteps of the huskies, thundered down thetunnel of the river through the pines like the galloping of heavyartillery over gravel. When, at rare intervals, the river cracked, perhaps four or five miles away, it reverberated through thetree-tops, causing their burden of snow to tremble and glisten, likethe report of neighbouring cannon. Every whisper was exaggerated to ashout, so that the ears were deafened and longed for quiet--quietwhich, unlike silence, consisted of a multitude of small soundssinging, almost inaudibly, together. 

Shortly after noon the light faded, and the blinding whiteness wasconverted into iron grey. Over to the westward the sun was hidden, andthe horizon became threatening with a leaden bank of cloud. Thetemperature sank lower and the twilight was obliterated; night rusheddown. 

The dogs were now thoroughly worn out; only by continual lashingcould he keep them to their work. The roughness of the ice had mangledtheir feet; they marked out the trail which they traversed withcrimson dots of blood. He had hoped to reach Spurling's nextcamping-place before making another halt; but his rate of travellinghad grown slower, and already the advantage of Spurling's fouradditional huskies was beginning to tell. At last his dogs lay down intheir traces and refused to budge. He knew that he could force them togo no further. 

Using the sled as a shovel, he dug out a hollow, throwing up acircular mount to protect him from the wind, should it arise. Searching along the river-bank, he collected wood for a fire, sufficient to last him till morning. He set up his sled on end, like atombstone, for a head rest, and lay himself down with his feet towardthe blaze. The dogs gathered round him shivering, lying one on eitherside, striving to share the warmth of his body. He beat them off atfirst, but they always crept back; so at last, becoming languidlysorry for them, he let them stop there. 

He was terribly tired; his bones felt like bars of red-hot ironscorching their way through his flesh. The hardness of the ice beneaththe snow surface had racked his body in every joint. Every now andthen he would get up and throw some wood on the fire, and lie downagain, pulling his blanket over his head, folding his arms tightlyacross his chest, and gathering his knees up close to his body toconserve whatever heat he had. Though his body slept, never for asecond did his brain lose consciousness of the cold and of the senseof travel. Always he seemed to be pressing on, doggedly, wearily, withthe forest rushing past him on either hand. Spurling was in sight;sometimes he would halt, and jeeringly beckon to him. When he had comewithin speaking distance of him, he would start off again, leaving anarrow track of gold behind, for one of the sacks had burst. 

Gradually the most fatal feeling that any man can experience innorthland travel stole upon him--_he felt that he did not care_. Ifthe fire went out, what matter? He would not get up to relight it. IfSpurling were standing at his side, he would not disturb himself tolook at him. If Mordaunt were to come to him, well, he might perhapsturn round to look at her. 

He began to dream of her as he had seen her in the locket. They wereboth back in the old homeland. He was talking with her in an Englishgarden and a thrush was singing overhead. How long it was since he hadlistened to the song of any bird! Why, he had almost forgotten thatthere was such an ecstasy in the world. So exalted was he, that hepaid more attention to the thrush's song than to the words whichMordaunt said. Then she grew angry and shook him; but he sat theremotionless, looking up into the branches of the tree, away from her, watching the sun through the greenness of the leaves, and thequivering throat of the bird. She rose up and left him in indignation;then darkness fell. He tried to follow her, but had no power to movehimself. He tried to cry out, but his tongue was joined to the roof ofhis mouth. Making a great effort, he came to himself. 

When he pushed up his arms to throw off his covering, they seemed tobe lifting a weight of surpassing heaviness. He sat upright and triedto open his eyes; he was blind--he could see nothing. He groped tofeel his eyeballs with his hands; but his fingers were frozen--theycould feel nothing. He rose to his feet in panic and stood thereswaying, as though he had been set upon a dizzy pedestal which hadgrown to be part of himself, so that he could not move, but could onlybend. 

"I must keep quiet, " he told himself; "I must keep quiet. If I getfrightened, I shall wander away to my death. "

When he tried to step forward his feet clapped together like solidblocks of ice. Very distantly, it seemed to him, he could make out alittle glow of red and feel a breath of warmness. Going down on hishands and knees, he crawled towards it. It was coming to meet him;they had met. He lay down beside the redness and his panic left him. 

Then he became conscious that it was hurting him and he commenced tohate it. In struggling to get away from it, he found that he couldmove more freely. Sensation had come into his hands; raising them hefelt his eyes. His great terror was not of death, but that he shouldbe forever sightless. He ran his fingers across his eyes and foundthat they were covered with flesh--that his eyelids were frozentogether. With his two hands he forced them apart, and gazed abouthim. Wherever he looked there was endless space with nothing to deterhim, stretching away on every side. The moon, in her last quarter, wasbarely visible--a mere shadow of silver in the sky; so indistinct washis vision, that it seemed to him as though he were looking at theimage of the firmament reflected in water, rather than at the starsthemselves. Yet, in the certain renewal of his sight, there came tohim a gladness which he had not known for many a day. 

When he turned toward the fire, he perceived the cause of his mishap:he had overslept himself and it was nearly out. By the way in which itwas scattered abroad and the smouldering of the fur which was abouthis throat and arms, he guessed that in his blindness and instinctivedesire for warmth, he had thrown himself upon its ashes. Havinggathered what remained of it together, he flung on more fuel and setto work to chafe his extremities, restoring circulation. He was toochilled to think of attempting sleep again that night: so, when hislimbs were sufficiently thawed out, he renewed his journey. 

The atmosphere was wonderfully clear, but there was in the air a senseof evil and foreboding. Even the dogs seemed to be aware of it, for asthey ran, turning their heads from side to side to see which way thewhip was coming that they might dodge it, there was a look offoreknowledge and terror in their eyes which warned Granger. 

As the dawn was spreading, he was startled by a long-drawn sigh, whichtravelled from horizon to horizon and died out. The dogs heard it, andsitting down abruptly in their tracks nearly overturned the sled. Gazing away to the northward, he saw a shadowy cloud arise, whirl anddrift languidly over the tree-tops and fall back again out of sight. He lashed at the huskies, and with difficulty set them going. But thesled drew heavily, as though it were being dragged through sand, forthe snow was gritty as the seashore: so intense was the cold that allslipperiness had gone out of it. He fastened a line to the load andwent on ahead, breaking the trail and hauling with all his strength. 

Before long the sigh was heard again; but this time it came nearer, and columns of white smoke rose up and danced in the river-bed. Thenhe knew that he was in for a _poudre_ day--the day which of all othersthe winter voyageur holds in most dread. While such weather lasts, even the hardiest traveller will refuse to leave his fire; for heknows that before long every land-mark will be blotted out, that hisvery dogs will refuse to obey him, and that to-morrow, when the windhas dropped and the snow has settled, the chances are that the sunwill find him with a quiet face turned upward to the sky, immobile andstatuesque as if carved from Parian marble. 

Leaving Spurling's trail, he ascended the bank and worked along by theforest's edge, that so he might gain shelter. With every fresh puff ofbreath from the north, the coiling snakes of snow grew larger, writhing across the tree-tops and pouring tumultuously into theriver-bed, where they rioted and fought till the day grew dark and itwas difficult to see the next step. Respiration became painful, butGranger was determined not to halt, for this was one of the accidentswhich would help him to come up with Spurling. Feeling his way fromtree to tree, he struggled on. His head became dizzy with the effort. His body, for all its coldness, broke out into a chilly sweat. He wasinvaded by a terrible inertia, so that he was half-minded to lie downand go to sleep; but the thought that Spurling had halted somewhere, perhaps only twenty miles ahead, and was losing time, drew him on. Presently his dogs sat down again, lifting their voices above thestorm in a dismal wailing. 

He cut their traces and went forward, dragging the sled himself. Theyfollowed him a few paces behind, slinking through the darkness withtheir heads down and their tails between their legs. They reminded himof the timber-wolf on the Forbidden River; there were times when, catching a partial glimpse of them, he could have sworn that they hadbeen joined by a third. 

By midday the wind died down, the atmosphere began to clear and thesnow to settle. Returning to the river he sought in vain forSpurling's tracks; either he had passed him in the blackness or theyhad been obliterated. He would know the truth in the next six hoursfor, if he were still ahead, he would come to his abandoned camp. 

Towards sunset he halted and lit a fire; he intended to travel throughthe night and was in need of rest. He had fed his huskies and wasstooping above the flames, cooking himself some bacon, when he raisedhis eyes to the west. For a minute he crouched, gazing with thefascination of horror at what he saw taking place apparently not morethan fifty yards away, but with such clearness that it might not havebeen more than ten paces. Where ten seconds before there had beennothing in view but the straight length of river and the snow-cappedforest, dripping with icicles, there was now, hanging above the treesface-downwards, anchored to the sky by crimson threads, the invertedimage of a portage, leading up from the right-hand bank of a river, hedged in on either side with a row of crosses which marked graves ofbygone voyageurs. Midway in the path was a little cabin, which hadbeen set up for the shelter of bestormed travellers by employees ofthe Hudson Bay. Granger recognised the place; it was Dead Rat Portage, and must be at least fifteen miles from where he was now standing andten from God's Voice. 

Out of the cabin, on his hands and knees, crawled a man. He wasevidently badly frost-bitten, for he tried to drag himself upright bythe door-post, but failed miserably, falling forward along the ground. As he lay there, he turned toward Granger a face which wasexpressionless as if it had been covered with a mask of waxen leprosy;it was frozen solid, as were his feet and hands. Granger knew, more bythe clothes than the ghastly features, that the man was Spurling. 

He seemed now to have given up hope of standing erect, and began tomove painfully on all fours across the snow to where a log of rottenwood was lying. Having reached it, he tried to raise it, but there wasnot the strength in his hands. He tried to fasten his teeth upon it, to drag it back with him; but his jaws seemed paralysed. Then he creptback to the cabin. 

Soon he came out again, and, having reached the log, commenced tolight it with a match. At first it refused to ignite, but when he hadpushed some broken twigs under it, it burst into flame. He bent overit hungrily, drawing so near that Granger expected to see his clothingcatch fire. 

Then, as he watched, he saw a second figure. It was that of a man, dressed precisely as he himself was dressed, and his back was turnedtowards him so that he could not discern his face; he carried in hishand an axe. He moved stealthily on snowshoes, dodging from tree totree, lest he should be discovered by the crouching man. His intentionwas so evidently evil, that Granger cried out a warning to saveSpurling. Murder, when watched in this way, was so brutal that, thoughhe himself had planned to do the deed, his whole moral naturerevolted against it now. He cried again, but his warning was notheard. He wished that the man with the axe would turn his head, thathe might see his face. 

A horrible, grotesque suspicion was growing up within him; he fanciedthat he knew the man--that he had seen him before in the Klondike, _that he was himself_. Spurling, quite unaware of his danger, washolding out his hands to the flames; it was not until the man wasclose behind him that be heard his footsteps and turned his head. Hisface was frozen; the frost had bound him hand and foot, making himdefenceless, so that he could hardly stir; the only means of appeal hehad was the expression in his eyes. 

Granger thought that he saw that expression--the cornered soulgesticulating, shrieking for mercy from the living eyes in thehalf-dead face. When the murderer raised his axe, he saw the soul'spitiful cowardice and how it shrank. The axe came crashing down. Therewas no need to strike twice; he fell limply backward, throwing hisarms out wide--and there was an end of El Dorado and of all his dreamsof avarice. 

The murderer, as if suddenly afraid of his own handiwork, withoutturning his head, hurried on across the portage through the forest, and was quickly lost to sight. 

Scenting the blood, the four gray huskies, one by one, came out fromthe cabin, where they seemed to have been asleep, and the othersfollowed them. They came slowly over to where their tyrant was lying, and sniffed his body. They did it cautiously, for as yet they had notlost their fear of him; he might awake and belabour them fordisturbing his last long rest. 

In falling his legs had shot from under him into the fire, scatteringthe embers, so he lay full length, with the red gash in his forehead, his arms spread out like a cross, and his face, in the inverted image, turned earthwards, gazing down on Granger and the Last Chance Riverwith startled, unseeing eyes. 

The mirage began to fade and float cloudwards, drifting up-river abovethe tree-tops higher and higher, till it vanished in the west. 

Of all that he had witnessed Granger had heard no sound--there lay thechief terror of it. Like the handwriting on the wall in Babylon, ithad taken place in silence. The crime which he had so oftencontemplated, and planned, had been transacted before his eyes; theperson who had done the deed had kept his back turned toward him, butin his attire was strangely like himself--and instead of beinggratified he was filled with loathing and hatred for the slayer. 

In the person of another he had seen the vileness which he had beenseeking for himself, and was horrified. He knew that, had he had hischance, he might have taken Spurling's life in just some such way asthat--he had imagined how he would do it many times. And now that itwas accomplished, he was sick with pity for the murdered man. 

To one thing he had instantly made up his mind, that, if this shouldprove to be more than a fancy of delirium--the miraged portrayal of avillainy which had actually occurred--he would track the assassin ashe had tracked Spurling, till the last ounce of his strength failedhim, that Spurling might be avenged. Perhaps, in the avenging he hopedto clear himself in his own sight of his imagined share in the crime. 

He felt as though the deed had been the result of his own projectedhatred, and that he himself was the real murderer. When he rememberedthe appearance of the man whom he now followed, it seemed like goingin pursuit of his own self. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE BLIZZARD

Now that he was nearing God's Voice, it was necessary that he shouldtravel more cautiously and keep a sharp lookout ahead. At any momenthe might come in sight of a Company's trapper, either sitting beneaththe trees by his camp-fire or racing down-river between the tallbanks, following his sled. He might be recognised, and recognitionwould lead to his arrest. Whatever happened afterwards, he desired hisfreedom for yet a little while, so he went carefully. In the course ofthe night he passed by one wigwam; but the Indian was evidently away, for no dog rose up to herald his approach. If the squaw was there, shedid not rouse; he got by unnoticed. 

Hoping against hope, he argued with himself, trying to believe thatSpurling was alive. He told himself that this had been a vision sentto him from God to turn him aside from his crime. He had gazed uponhimself as he would have become, and his soul had revolted at thesight. 

As he ran on, swearing at his huskies, urging them forward with thelash, he offered up to God many fervid thanks for the mercy which Hehad shown him, hoping that by these means, even though the calamityhad happened, he might shame his Maker by his gratitude into puttingback the hands of time, and so restoring the murdered man to life. Atlast by the constant reiteration of the thing which he desired, hebegan to take it for granted that his prayer was answered. Spurlingwas not dead; he was alive, and he was going to ask his forgivenessfor the evil which he had thought against him. 

He put together the words which he would say to him when they met, andthe gestures he would use to make his words convincing. He repeatedthem over many times that he might retain them in his memory. Thensomething would happen to take his attention away, one of the dogswould be shirking or the sled would have overturned, and, when he cameback to the words which he had planned, he would be thrown into afrenzy, finding that they had slipped his mind. 

Though he was desperately in earnest over this game at which heplayed, he was aware all the while of its unreality--that it was but agame. His sanity warned him that what he had seen had truly happened, and that the man was dead. This was not the first occasion upon whichhe had seen a mirage when the snow was down and the land was white. There had been times before, when, at the moment of daybreak orsunset, he had witnessed strange freaks of inverted forest and riverhovering in the sky. Once he had seen an Indian ten miles away, attacking a wolf which had been caught by the leg in a steel trap, belonging to another man. So distinctly had he seen his features anddress that, at a later day, when he had brought in his winter catch offurs to exchange, he had recognised him; and when he had offered himthe wolf-skin, had accused him of the theft. Moreover, he knew that, whether the sight which he had witnessed was mirage or fancy, he didnot deserve the leniency for which he prayed. He had had his chanceand warning three times already: once in the Klondike; once after thearrival of Spurling, when God wrote upon the ice; and once at thebend, when in the company of Père Antoine he had mistaken the body ofStrangeways for that of Spurling. 

Then there was the appearance of the murderer to be accounted for, andhis motive in slaying. He had been smaller in stature than himself, ashad been the creature at the Shallows, but he had had the samepeculiarities of clothing and was very much alike. Yet he strove todrive down all his doubts and to believe the thing which hedesired--that the phenomenon was the result of imagination, and thatSpurling was not dead. 

He made small progress in his travelling, for his body was worn out byprevious hardships. Sometimes he took over two hours to go threemiles; it was long past midnight when Dead Rat Portage came in sight. 

At this point the river made a large curve to the southward andbroadened out into rapids; the portage was eight hundred yards inlength and saved voyageurs six miles, crossing the neck of land by anarrow trail and picking up the Last Chance River on the other side. In summer time the York boats were unloaded here, and dragged acrosson rollers, the freight being carried on men's backs. As he drew near, his hope sank; the place looked so gloomy and forbidding. There werestories told about it and of how it had won its name, which might wellmake any man afraid. An old fort, established by the French at thetime when they disputed the possession of Keewatin with PrinceRupert's Company, had once stood there; it was said that some of thecrosses which fringed the trail marked spots where its defenders layburied. However, it was not the memory of the past, but the knowledgeof what might now await him, which caused him to hesitate. 

On the river's bank, where the portage commenced, was a cleared space, from which a path led round the cabin and tunnelled into the forest. As he eased his sled out of the river-bed, he caught the smell ofburning, and, when he had topped the bank, he saw the glow of analmost extinguished fire. The overhanging trees, casting their networkof shadows across the snow, prevented him from distinguishing at thatdistance any object that lay beneath them. While he halted, halfinclined to wait till daybreak before proceeding further with hisinvestigation, he was startled by the sound of footsteps. They cametoward him very cautiously and there were many of them. He saw theglint of eyes in the darkness, shining out and disappearing among thecrosses. He tried to count them; as far as he could make out therewere six pairs. Then he called them softly by name, and there cametoward him Spurling's four grey huskies and the two of his own team, which had been taken. 

And still he clung desperately to his hope and would not allow himselfto believe that in the shadow of the trees, a dozen yards from wherehe was standing, the man whom he had set out to kill was lyingmurdered. He whispered his name, not daring to speak louder. When noanswer was returned, he rallied his retreating faith by saying, "He issleeping. I must approach him gently. If he awakes and hears me, hemay think I am his enemy and escape me. "

Leaving his dogs, he stole toward the sparks of fire. Although hestill denied the mirage, telling himself that what he had seen wasfancied, he directed his steps by that which he had witnessed in thesky. 

Drawing nearer, he made out the smouldering log; cowardice promptedhim to procrastinate, he crept round behind it. The air was heavy withthe smell of scorching leather. His eyes growing more accustomed tothe shadow, he saw the figure of a man, lying on the snow with hisarms stretched out in the shape of a cross and his moccasined feetprotruding above the glowing ashes. The last vestige of hope left him;he knew that Spurling was dead. With certainty, his power of decisionreturned; he still had a purpose to live for--to avenge this death. 

Having pulled the body aside and heaped branches against the log, herekindled the fire. In the light which it cast he could see theblurred trail of Spurling, where he had crawled to and from the cabin;also he could see the tracks which the slayer's snowshoes had left ashe strode away through the forest following the portage. He stoopedand examined them. By so doing he learnt a new fact--that the man whohad done the deed was of Indian blood, for the toes of his footprintsinclined to turn inwards, and in carrying his feet forward he had keptthem closer together than does a white man; also he judged that he waslightly built, for the snow beneath his steps was not much crushed. 

So Beorn was not the culprit, nor was his phantom-self from theKlondike. He thought of Eyelids; but Eyelids was a tall man and hisstride ought to have been longer. That which he had witnessed in themirage led him to believe that the act had been premeditated, andtherefore had some strong motive; either it had been done for thereward or for the sake of theft. 

He looked round for Spurling's sled and found it in the cabin; it wasstill loaded--the gold had not been touched. He was puzzled. If theftwas not the object, why had the body been left? Without its productionor some part of it that was recognisable, the thousand dollars wouldnot be awarded. The best way to solve the mystery was to follow up themurderer; and, if he were to do that, there was no time to lose. 

Dragging the remains into the cabin, he made fast the door, that thewolves might not destroy them; he would care for them on his homewardjourney--if he survived to come back. Harnessing the four grey huskiesinto his sled, since they were the freshest, he set out across theportage. Turning his head, as he entered the forest, he took one lastlook at the deserted camp. The fire, burning brightly, with no one tosit by it, added the final touch to the general aspect of melancholy. Wailing through the darkness the huskies wandered; and in thebackground, when the flames shot up, appeared the crosses, bending onetoward another, which marked the sleeping-places of men who, yearssince, had lived and suffered, and obtained their rest. 

Beneath the trees, the gloom was so heavy that he could see nothing;but on coming out on to the banks of the river on the other side heagain picked up the murderer's trail. It led up the Last Chance in asouth-westerly direction towards God's Voice, which was only ten milesdistant. He had begun to take it for granted that the man was a HudsonBay employee, hurrying toward the fort to claim the reward, when thetracks, branching off to the left, climbed out of the river andplunged into a low-lying, thickly wooded wilderness, striking duesouth. 

In Keewatin the rivers are the only highways; to leave them even insummer time, if you have no guide and are not a man born in thedistrict, is extremely dangerous; to do so in winter when, after everyprecaution has been taken, travel remains precarious, is to courtalmost certain death. For a moment Granger hesitated. He examined theprints of the snowshoes and saw that they were very recent. The manmust have waited somewhere, and seen him coming. He must know now thathe was being followed, and could not be far ahead. "Well, it's deathwhatever happens, " thought Granger; "to go on to God's Voice is death;to return to Murder Point is death. I'd just as soon die by this man'shand, trying to avenge Spurling, as one cold morning in Winnipeg witha rope about my neck. "

The day rose late and cloudy. The sun did not show itself. The skyweighed down upon the tree-tops, as if too heavy to support itself. Presently large flakes of snow, the size of feathers, drifted throughthe air, making a gentle rustling as they fell. Granger pressed onmore hurriedly, for he feared that, if he dropped too far behind, thesnow would cover up all traces of the man, and so he would escape him. Sometimes he fancied that he could hear him going on ahead, for everynow and then a twig would snap. In the heat of his pursuit he took noaccount of direction. 

About midday he halted; of late all sounds had grown rarer and thesnow had thickened, causing even his own footprints to appear blurreda few seconds after they had been made. Of the trail which hefollowed he could see nothing himself, trusting to his huskies' senseof smell to lead him aright. 

Soon he grew strangely nervous, for he thought that he heard thecrunch of snowshoes coming up behind. He persuaded himself that it wasimagination, until his dogs, swinging round in a half-circle, began totravel back in a direction parallel to the route they had alreadytraversed. He paused and listened again; behind him he coulddistinctly hear the sound of something stirring. Then he knew that hewas no longer the pursuer. 

His blood froze in his veins, and he began to lose confidence. Herealised that if the murderer knew the district and was moving in acircle purposely, he was doing so in order that he might lure him tohis death. Abandoning all thought of pursuit, his sole endeavourbecame to regain the river-bed. He lashed his dogs, urging themforward to the limit of their strength; but he came to nothing thatwas familiar; and, when he paused for breath, he could always hear thesnowshoes following. 

Then he awoke to the knowledge that he was lost. His first sensationwas of blank bewilderment, producing in him an utter loss of memory. He strove to quiet himself, but his will-power refused to operate. Whohe was, and why he was there, he could not remember; of two thingsonly was he conscious, that he was pursued by something that was evil, and that he was lost. 

A state of chaos reigned within him, which was soon succeeded by anall-pervading terror. He must escape somehow to safety, to a placewhere there were men. He longed to dash on somewhere, on and on; buthe was paralysed by his utter inability to think consecutively or tochoose out any particular direction. He began to see horriblecontorted shapes about him, and to imagine modes of death which werestill more horrible. He might die of starvation, he might die ofthirst, he might die of frost; but his worst fear was of somethingwhich he would never see, which would steal softly up, when he was toocold to turn his head, and strike him from behind. He circled roundand round to avoid the blow; but he felt that, as he moved, the thingmoved keeping pace with him, so that, for all his alertness, it wasalways behind his back. 

In a way in which he had never desired it before, he longed for humancompanionship--just to look once more upon a living face. And to allthese fears and yearnings there was the undertow of an addedhorror--the terror lest he should become insane. He burst into apassion of weeping; as the tears fell they froze upon his face. Theair was thick with snow which the rising wind drifted about, drivingit into curious and fantastic shapes. Had he been more quiet, he wouldhave known that his only wise plan was to lie down until the blizzardwas past. It would bury him, but as a covering it would act as ablanket to keep him warm. The blizzard seemed to him to be hemming himin, building up about him a shifting wall through which the pursuercould attack him unseen. 

Always he was conscious of the pursuer's presence; always he could seethe picture of Spurling's uplifted face and the pleading that was inhis eyes as the assailant, with his back turned towards the onlooker, poised the axe above his head. That he might not share that fate hebroke away into the greyness, tripping over snow ridges, falling intodrifts, and bruising his body against the trunks of trees in themadness of his flight. His huskies added to his panic by followinghim. 

There were times when he ran so far ahead that he could neither seenor hear them; but, when he halted, panting, they would emerge and laythemselves down at his side. He hated them; they were sinister in hiseyes. Had they not brought Spurling from Winnipeg, and had not theiryellow-faced leader been the cause of Strangeways' death?

The wind, rising higher, shrieked among the branches. He wandered on, neither knowing nor caring where he went, for he had lost all sense oflocality or time. There were intervals during which he must havedreamed and slept, for he passed down an endless street of tallhouses, built in the English fashion, and the blinds were up and itwas nightfall. On the windows danced the light of fires, burning onthe hearths inside; and sometimes he could see the faces of childrenlooking out at him. He held up his blue hands at them, making signsthat they should let him in that he might warm himself; but they shooktheir heads mischievously, and ran away and laughed. 

After one of these experiences, more real to him than the others, hecame to himself. Surely that was the sound of music and dancing thatcame to him above the cry of the storm. He waited for a lull andlistened, then followed the direction of the sound. As he drew nearer, he caught the thud of moccasined feet beating time upon a boardedfloor, and snatches of the tune which the violin was playing. Something loomed up out of the darkness to meet him. He held out hishands to force it from him, and drove them against a door. Then heknew that he had arrived at God's Voice. 

He was half inclined to knock; at least they would not threaten himand drive him away this time as they had done in the previous winter. What was more likely to happen was that the man who opened to him, recognising him, would seize him by the throat, drag him inside andquickly slam the door. He would push him before him across the squaretill he came to the room where the trappers were dancing, where, inall probability, the factor was. And Robert Pilgrim when he saw him, wagging his red beard at him, would shout, "Ha, so you heard mewhistle, and have come like a dog!"

He drew himself upright and stepped back from the gateway. No, hecould not endure that. Any death was preferable to the price that hewould have to pay for such shelter. 

He worked his way along the wall till he stood beneath the windowwhere the fort was assembled. It was a comfort to him to hear againthe sound of voices. He listened to the fiddling and recognised it asthat of Sandy McQuean, the half-breed son of a famous Orkney man. Hehad learnt his art from his father. They were all Scotch airs that heplayed. He could sing, when he chose, with a Highland accent, and hadcaught the knack of imbuing what he sang with an intolerable pathos. 

The stamping of feet had ceased, but the violinist wandered on. Presently a new melody began to emerge from the improvisations, and aman's voice rose above the storm. The words he sang were _The Flowerso' the Forest_:

 "I've seen the smiling Of fortune beguiling; I've felt all its favours, and found its decay; Sweet was its blessing, Kind its caressing; But now 'tis fled--fled far away. "

Granger shifted his feet uneasily as he listened, and half-turned togo. 

As he did so, he found that someone was standing close behind him. Hedid not see his face, but one glance was enough to warn him. He dodgedand ran to the river. The man was following him again. He took thedirection which was open to him, and set out down-stream, returning tothe portage. 

The wind was dead against him, blinding his eyes and choking him withsnow. He bowed his head and struggled on. He made a brave effort, buthe knew that he was slowly freezing. His flesh was icy and his bonesseemed heavy, weighing him down. The blood halted, and leapt forward, and halted in his veins and arteries, as though there were frequentstoppages past which it had to squeeze its way; he could hear itsurging. 

Gradually his physical pain grew less and, as it did so, his mindattained an unwonted clearness. He had somewhat the same experience asis said to come to drowning men in their last moments ofconsciousness. He was able to review his life as a whole and justly, attributing to each separate action its proper importance, and shareof praise or blame. He realised that his hiding from Robert Pilgrim onHuskies' Island, journey to the Forbidden River, and pursuit ofSpurling, had been one long series of mistakes, each one tending tomake him appear more guilty of Strangeways' death. He owned that allhis life had been spent in avoiding his most obvious duties, and insetting himself hard tasks in exchange, which were impossible ofaccomplishment. His first duty had been towards his mother, and he hadabandoned it nominally for the sake of a childish pledge, really forthe glamour of El Dorado. His more recent duty had been to fulfil hisobligations to his half-breed wife, especially now that she was aboutto bear him a child; he had forsaken her for his old dream's sake andfor the sake of a revenge which he had persuaded himself was noble. 

Reviewing these facts, he promised himself that, if ever he were givenagain the power of choice, he would return to Murder Point and livefor her. Another matter became clear in his mind; that, whenSpurling's body was discovered, if the man who had done the deed didnot own up, he would be accused of the murder--and it _would_ bemurder, for it would be thought that he had killed him not in thecause of justice, but out of private spite. Morally he knew that hewas the culprit and deserved to be hanged, for he had only avoidedbeing guilty through the accident of having been forestalled in hiscrime. 

He stumbled and fell full length in a drift. He did not try to rise. He had no fear of dying; his only desire was to get warm now. Hepressed nearer to the snow and closed his eyes, and gradually lostconsciousness. 

He was awakened by someone rubbing his face vigorously. He resentedthe interference; he wanted the rest. Once he opened his eyes, and wasblinded by a roaring fire. As the warmth spread through him and hiscirculation returned, his body became very painful, as though it werebeing pierced by millions of red-hot needles. The agony of it broughthim to himself. 

A man was bending over him, whose face he could not see, for the hoodwas fastened before it, leaving only his eyes visible. By his dress heknew that he was his pursuer and Spurling's slayer. Again he wasimpressed with the fancy, not so much by his proportions which weresmaller, but by his clothing, that he was very like himself. Languidlyhe awaited an opportunity to get another glimpse of his eyes; somehowthey were familiar, he knew them. Then, because the man, murdererthough he was, was saving his life, he turned away his head. He wouldnot see anything which, in a weaker moment, might tempt him to giveinformation in order that he might save himself. 

The man, seeing that he was recovered and safe to be left, without aword of explanation glided off into the darkness. 

Granger sat up and looked after him; he was puzzled by the memory ofthose eyes. He ran through all the list of his acquaintance, and couldnot place them. The blizzard had now subsided, and the stars shoneoverhead. He must have lain unconscious for some time before beingfound. All around him, and as far as eye could reach, the snow lay inshort choppy waves, which took on the appearance of motion by reasonof the shadows. As he watched, something lifted up its head above aridge, and he saw that it was one of the huskies. Either his team hadfollowed him, or the man had brought them with him. Rising to hisfeet, on the other side of the fire he saw his sled. He felt hungry, and going towards it was about to get out some provisions, when hefound that that was unnecessary; in the ashes a can of black tea wasbrewing and some bacon had been left, also a bundle of wood sufficientto last him till morning. He spent the remainder of the night there, and at daybreak continued his journey to the portage. 

When he reached the cabin and pushed open the door, he found that itwas occupied. An Indian, of the Sucker tribe, whom he had previouslymet, was sitting there. Looking round he saw that Spurling's body wasin the same place and untouched, but that the load upon the sled hadbeen rifled. 

When he had offered him some tobacco, the Indian, jerking his head inthe direction of the body, asked, "You kill him?"

Granger signed denial. The Indian looked doubtful. Then he said, pointing to the old tracks in the cabin which his snowshoes had left, "All the same, those your tracks. "

Granger was in no mood for arguing, so he nodded assent. The Indianwas silent for a while. Presently he rose to his feet and harnessed inhis team. As he passed out of the door, he said, "You bad man. All thesame, you kill him. "

Granger followed him out and saw him crossing the portage towardsGod's Voice. He scraped a hole in the snow and buried Spurling. 

On turning his attention to the sled, he saw that the Indian had takeneverything except the gold. He poured out the dust and nuggets aboveSpurling's grave; it was the thing which he had loved most in life, assome men love goodness and flowers. To both Spurling and himself itwas worthless now; but it was the only offering which he had. 

Leaving the mound sparkling white and yellow in the sunshine, hestruck the trail down the Last Chance River, returning to MurderPoint. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE LAST CHANCE

Since the middle of November he had been back at the Point: it was nowthe day before Christmas, and Peggy was still absent. During the lastsix weeks he had waited anxiously, always listening, even in hissleep, for her returning footstep. It was extraordinary to him tonotice how, now that he had lost her, every other affection that hehad ever known became dwarfed and of no acount in comparison with hislove of her. He no longer thought of Mordaunt or of El Dorado; all hisanxiety was for the half-breed wife, whom he had once despised. Therewas but one ambition, the fulfilment of which he greatly desired, andthat was again to see her and to look upon his child. Somewhereoutside, beneath the grey chaos of white forest and gloomy sky, in thewigwam of a trapper, tended by Indian women, she had faced her ordealand had, perhaps, survived. If ever he was to see her it would beto-night, when her kinsmen had promised to return. 

At first, when he had left Dead Rat Portage, he had feared that hewould be overtaken by the Mounted Police or Robert Pilgrim before everhe reached the Point. For six weeks he had remained there undisturbedand solitary. 

Watching from his window day by day, he had seen an occasional Indianpass, averting his face and, if he were a Catholic, crossing himselfto avoid the overlooking of the evil eye. When such chance travellersapproached the bend, he had noticed how they seemed to see somethingthere, which he could not see, and climbing out of the river-trail, making a wide circuit, hurried their steps to get quickly by. Thoughhe had spoken to no one for so long a time, he had not beenlonely--watching for Peggy was a continual, if painful, source ofexcitement. And another matter had kept him fully occupied. Being anhonest man, he knew that since the spring of the year he had not donewell by his employers; therefore, since he thought it highly probablethat, at any moment, he might be called away on a longer journey thanany that he had yet undertaken, he had spent a large part of hisleisure in making a report of the trade and contents of the store, which would be of service to his unlucky successor in the post ofagent. 

His chief cause for disquiet had been the hidden personality of theman whom he had seen in the sky, and who had afterwards rescued himfrom the blizzard near God's Voice. The haunting recollection of thoseeyes, of which he had caught but a glimpse as the man bent over himand the fire beat up into his shrouded face, had tortured him, allowing him rest from thought neither day nor night. For weeks he hadsearched his memory for some forgotten record, which would account fortheir seeming familiarity. Where had he seen them before? Was itbefore he left England, or in the Klondike? Or had their owner oncecome to trade with him at the store?

Ten days ago, when he was sitting half-dozing by the stove, thinkingof nothing in particular, a face had drifted up from his subconsciousmemory, grouping its features about the eyes. He had staggered to hisfeet, horrified at the significance which this new knowledge, if true, gave to the motive of the crime. Bewildering details, which he hadnoticed in the man's appearance and had not been able to reconcile, now built themselves into the chain of evidence and were readilyexplained--there could be no mistake. He had bowed his head in histrembling hands, giving God broken thanks that he had been spared thefinal remorse which would have come to him had he been successful inhis pursuit of Spurling's murderer. All that night he had prayed, aghast and terrified, that God would protect the assailant fromdetection. 

And perhaps God had heard him, for the morning found him strangelyquiet; he thought that he had now discovered a way to go out of life agentleman, though no one but himself and one other would know that hisgallantry was not disgrace. 

The short December daylight wore away and night fell. He spread a mealfor four people, with fare which was unusually ample. Having lit thelamp and built up a roaring fire in the stove, he sat down to awaitthe arrival of his guests. 

To evade his excitement of anticipation, which was becoming painful, he drove his thoughts back to other Christmas Eves, and tried toimagine and share in the innocent happiness which the season wasbringing to children, still illusioned and unwise, all the world overthat night. He had almost succeeded in beguiling himself into thebelief that he was again a child, when the huskies commenced to howl, giving warning of someone's approach. 

Listening acutely, he caught the distant shouting of dog-drivers, coming down-river, across the ice. He ran to the window and saw theforms of two men, stooping down unharnessing their teams at the Point. He recognised them, but did not go outside to make them welcome, sincehe had not yet learnt their purpose. The door opened, and Beorn andEyelids entered. 

There was nothing altered in Beorn's appearance; but Eyelids lookedhaggard and fatigued with travel. 

He came towards Granger with a stealthy tread, yet so slowly that heseemed rather to be drawing back. "Where's Peggy?" were the firstwords he uttered. "She's gone away, " Granger said. Then, seeing herbrother's genuine concern, he commenced to explain a little of whathad taken place in his absence. He was recounting his discovery ofSpurling's flight, when his listener, taking it for granted that healready knew the rest, broke in impatiently, with "You damn fool!Why'd you kill him?"

Granger smiled. He was amused at the half-breed's new air ofdomineering boldness and the change which it made in his countenance. "Oh, so you know that?" he inquired. Eyelids came over and shook himby the arm, as though he thought that he needed awakening. 

Speaking rapidly, tumbling over his words, sometimes relapsing intothe Cree dialect, he commenced to give a hurried account of his ownactions. There had been a thousand dollars offered for Spurling'scapture, and he had gone to claim it. It was not covetousnessaltogether which had prompted him to do that; the reward was only anincident. His father was determined to be revenged for the trespass ofthe Forbidden River, and he had accompanied his father, hoping, by sodoing, to save his brother-in-law's life--the handing over ofSpurling to justice would have proved him innocent of complicity inStrangeway's death. 

They had had to go a long way south before they had met with thewinter patrol and had been able to give their information. They hadbeen coming back with Sergeant Shattuck to make the arrest, when theyhad fallen in with an Indian of the Sucker tribe. He had given themnews that a month ago a man had been murdered at the Dead Rat Portageby the agent at the Point, where he believed they had quarrelled, though why and what about he could not guess. 

Arriving at God's Voice, they had learnt that gold had been found, scattered above the grave at the Dead Rat. And now the Mounted Policewere coming, Eyelids said, to take Granger away to be hanged. He hadheard Robert Pilgrim and the sergeant arranging it together, and hadcome on ahead to give him warning. He believed that the pursuers werenot far behind. His quarrel had been with Spurling, not with Granger;he was emphatic about that. He would not have accompanied his father, had he not gathered from words which he had let fall in his delirium, that Granger hated Spurling as much as any of them. He had thoughtthat he would understand their purpose in going southward, and wouldbe willing to guard Spurling in order that he might be betrayed. Andnow he had come to make him an offer: there was yet time to escape; hewould hide him so securely in the forest that he never would betracked. 

Granger thought that he discovered in Eyelids' vehemence theblustering confusion of a repentant Judas. 

He shook his head, "No, " he answered, "I intend to wait. "

Eyelids pressed him for a reason. "I must see Peggy, " he replied: "shewill certainly be here to-night. Even if she had already arrived andwere willing to go with me, I should stay. "

For a man of Indian training, Eyelids used many words to persuade him. When he saw that he had failed, he relapsed into sullen silence. Beornpaid no attention, but stared grimly before him with his dead-souleyes, as though he had heard nothing. Granger fancied that he mustoften have worn that same expression when, crouched beneath theauriferous ledges of the Fair-haired Annie, he had listened to thepicks of his enemies drawing nearer, and had waited to deal outunhurried and impartial death to the men of the Bloody Thunder Mine. 

There was the sound of long striding steps ascending the mound; it wasnot the tread of Peggy. Without the formality of knocking, the latchwas raised and Père Antoine towered in the doorway. His garments werefrosted and glistened, so that he seemed to be clothed in a vaporousincandescence. His face was very stern and sad. He said nothing, butgazing full on Granger, he beckoned to him that he should comeoutside. 

Casting his capote about him and drawing on his mittens, he obeyed. Antoine led the way to the back of the store, till they stood on theedge of the clearing, where the forest began. The full moon shiningdown on the country made it appear legendary and ghostlike, averitable Hollow land, such as the Indians believed in, entering intowhich a man might wander on forever, without home-coming, and nevertaste of death. Granger felt that he would scarcely experiencesurprise were he to witness, drifting on poised wings from an openingin the clouds, a flight of shadowy angels, voyaging to some newerplanet where they should startle other shepherds, singing to them thetidings of the Christ. 

Antoine recalled him, saying, "I may not be doing right, for I cannotguess your motives, but I have come to tell you that I am willing tohelp you to escape. "

If he had come to him on any other errand than that of his ownpreservation, Granger knew, as he watched the pity struggling with thesternness in his face, that he would have followed him anywhere, toperil and to shame. But now, that was impossible. 

"Antoine, " he replied, "I cannot. Spurling is dead. "

Le Père surveyed him curiously in silence. "But you--did you do it?"he said. 

"You know that I always meant to do it. "

"Then you are determined to die?"

"Yes. "

"For some one else?"

"Pshaw! For me it is no sacrifice. You know that I would have killedhim, had God given me the time. "

Antoine drew off his mitten, and held out to him his bare right hand. "You are a noble man, " he said; "I will keep your secret. "

As they returned to the shack, Eyelids looked up at them inquiringly, as though he were about to ask them what preparations he should makefor their journey. When he saw how, saying nothing, they satthemselves down to wait, he shrugged his shoulders desperately. Presently, with a false show of indifference, he set about playing themoccasin-game, which consists of placing buttons, bullets, andanything small which comes handy, into an empty moccasin, shakingthem up together, and guessing the number which the shoe contains. Itis a gambling game which, in earlier days, was wont to cause muchbloodshed and ruin among the buffalo-runners of the plains. 

The hours went by and the night grew late. The meal which had beenspread was still untasted. They did not converse; there seemed solittle to say, and, moreover, their voices might prevent them fromhearing the first warning of Peggy's approach. The roaring of the logsin the stove, and the monotonous clicking of the buttons and bulletsone against the other as Eyelids shook them, and again as he emptiedthem upon the floor, like the ominous tapping of muffled hammers atwork about a coffin, were the only sounds, and these, at last, byreason of their regularity, began to grow nerve-racking. Between theemptying of the moccasin, and the gathering up and re-shaking of thecounters, Granger held his breath. It seemed to him that Eyelids wasgambling with an invisible player, and that the stake which he stoodto lose or win was his own life. It was inconceivable that any manshould have sat playing all these hours at a game of hazard, riskingnothing, having for antagonist himself. 

Relief came from without. From far across the river the forest-silencewas shattered by a piercing cry. It reached him distantly at first, but, with each interval that elapsed, it grew nearer. It was like thetortured, desperate complaining of a soul in its final agony. Stealingto the window, he looked out, and saw upon the farther bank theoutline of a timber-wolf. He looked at Beorn; he also had heard it, for he had pricked up his ears like a husky and was listening. Fearingthat the suspense of these long and silent hours might cause him tobehave unworthily, he clutched Antoine by the shoulder, and whispered, "For God's sake, say something. Tell us one of your tales. "

Then Le Père thought awhile, and afterwards, in a low sonorous voice, commenced to recount the story of the founding of the HuronMission--one of the noblest histories in the world, of men who havedied for men. As he progressed, Eyelids looked up from hismoccasin-game and the little tappings, as of muffled hammers about acoffin, ceased for a spell. 

He told them of Isaac Jogues, the Jesuit; how he was the most timid ofmen, and how for his love of Christ he became brave. 

He told them of his capture, on the second day of August, 1642, by theIroquois, and the patience with which his sufferings were endured. Howwhen he was near dying of hunger and thirst, he used the drops ofrain, which had gathered in an ear of corn which had been thrown him, to baptize two dying men. How when the Indians had grown weary oftorturing him and had cast him out into the March bleakness, he spenthis days in the forest praying, and carving the name of _Jesus_ on thetree-trunks with his lacerated hands. 

Then followed the account of his miraculous escape to France and thehonours which were proffered him by Church and State, no one of whichhe would take, save only permission to return to Canada that, as hehad lived, so he might die for men, and the Pope's specialdispensation that he might say the Mass, from which he had beendebarred by his mutilations. 

And he told them the story of Brébeuf and the vision which he had hadin the winter of 1640, when sojourning among the Neutral Nation. Howhe beheld in the sky the apparition of a great cross, advancingtowards him from the quarter where lay the Iroquois land. How he hadspoken to his comrades about it, and they had questioned him, "What isit like? How large?" And he had answered them, saying, "It is largeenough to crucify us all. "

Granger interrupted him, smiling grimly to himself and whispering, "Yes, and I have seen it in Keewatin--_large enough to crucify usall_. "

Antoine, overhearing his words, replied, "I know you have. " Afterwhich they fell silent. For perhaps an hour they remained thus, andthe flame of the lamp sank lower and lower as the oil becameexhausted; no one rose to attend to it. 

A panting breath was heard outside. The door flew open and a man stoodupon the threshold. "They are coming, " he gasped in a rasping voice. "My God! they are coming. "

No one stirred. They did not recognise his tones and it was too darkto see his face. They were each one wondering who was this stranger, who could find in the death of anyone, save himself, a matter fordistress. 

He closed the door; in so doing, they saw that he carried a bundle, like a deformity, strapped across his shoulders. They watched him insilence until, cowed by the coldness of their reception, he wasturning to depart; then Antoine spoke up. "Come nearer the stove, myson, " he said, "where you can warm yourself, and we can look upon yourface. "

Slowly the man moved forward, casting a long shadow on the wall. Andnow to the four men gazing, the shadow which the stranger cast seemedto have become of more interest than his face--for there were twoshadows, one of which followed ominously behind. While the first umbrawas dim and blurred, the second was dense and well-defined; moreoverit stood by itself, as if cast by an unseen presence, and was in everyway different from that of the stranger. It seemed endowed with aseparate personality; its actions were independent of those of the manand shadow which it followed. In watching it, they felt that therewere six people in the room instead of five. 

Recognition came to them each one at about the same time; they rose totheir feet fascinated, and stared like men gone mad. The thing stoodupright, a little way out from the wall it seemed, its head turnedtowards them, as if conscious of their inspection--_and yet it wasonly a shadow_. And it was the shadow of a man over six feet in heightand proportionately broad of chest, who carried his dog-whipleft-handed. It was the shadow which Spurling would have cast, had hebeen alive. And Spurling had cursed Granger merely for suggestingthat, despite their preparations for departure, they might all meetagain at Murder Point on Christmas Eve. 

The stranger, being ignorant of what they saw, for whichever way heturned the pursuer stole behind him, and growing alarmed at theirterrified expressions, withdrew from the circle of the lamp andfirelight, willing to hide himself. 

Granger was the first to remove his gaze from the wall and to recoverfrom his surprise. He approached the shrinking figure. "Peggy, " hecried: and as she turned, he saw that her capote was the one which hehad missed, and that the remainder of her man's dress was his ownborrowed attire. 

She came towards him with her arms stretched out and, as she did so, his heart was strangely stirred within him by a little puling cry. 

"It was the only way to save you, " she moaned; "and it has not savedyou. "

"I know, I understand, " he whispered. Then he loosed her arms fromabout his neck and unslung the baby from her shoulders. Fear for theircommon safety struggling with the mother's pride and tenderness, shefollowed him to the firelight and allowed him to kneel beside her. Their bodies pressing close together, they wondered at and touchedwith a strange reverence the little weakly creature sprawling in herlap. It commenced to wail, and she bared to it her breasts. To Antoinewatching her, she seemed the Madonna of Keewatin, with her stifledlove, naked passions, and heroic fight for life--and to-morrow wouldbe Christmas night. 

In the presence of the child they had all forgotten the shadow, hovering there behind her, and the sorrow which it meant. EvenEyelids, the Judas of the tragedy, stole nearer and, extending hishands, touched shyly this frail body of newborn life, as if by sodoing he could cleanse them. No one interfered with him; they were tooglad. The Man with the Dead Soul looked on unmoved; his countenancewas alone unchanged. He was listening intently. 

A wolf-call broke the stillness of the night. Going to the door, hestepped out, threw back his head and answered. It was the sign forwhich he had waited. Eyelids snatched up his gun and placed himselfbefore Granger, prepared to defend him; but Granger took the gun fromhis hand. "No. Not that, " he said. 

Turning about, he saw that Peggy had risen and, with his child in herarms, was hurrying toward the threshold. Guessing her purpose, hecaught her by the waist and drew her back. He led her to that cornerof the room which was darkest, and, making her sit down, bent aboveher speaking in a low quick voice. For two minutes nothing was heardbut her sobbing, the hissing of his whispered messages, and the slow, deep-drawn breathing of Eyelids and Antoine. They both knew now thathe was innocent since they had seen the shadow. The air was heavy withsuspense. There was a crunching of snow which came nearer, ascendingthe mound toward the shack. There was the sound of several footsteps, as of men taking up positions about the house. The door burst open andBeorn entered, followed by a man who, Granger guessed from his bearingand dress, was Sergeant Shattuck. It was his last chance to redeemhimself. 

He rose up, resting his hand on his wife's shoulder to keep herseated, and stood in front of her, hiding her from view, so that thesergeant should not see that tell-tale shadow behind her. Even whilehe held himself there in breathless silence, taking his first look atthe man who had travelled all those miles only to carry him southwardto his death, he smiled grimly, amused at the Homeric justice ofit--that Spurling should have killed and been killed by a woman indisguise, and that on his head should rest the burden of the shame, hewho throughout his life had never _done_, but had only _intended_. 

Then the sergeant spoke. "John Granger, are you there?"

"I am. "

"I arrest you, John Granger, on the charge of being concerned in thedeath of Corporal Eric Strangeways, and of the wilful murder of oneDruce Spurling, your accomplice in the latter crime, whom you, wellknowing that he was a fugitive from justice, assisted to escape fromthe afore-mentioned Eric Strangeways. "

Peggy half rose to her feet, with a choking cry, and tried to speak;but Granger checked her. 

"I plead guilty, " he said; "I am ready to come with you. I have onlyone request to make, that you take me away with you at once, settingout this night. "

The sergeant looked doubtful; he had made a long journey, and he andhis dogs were tired. But hearing the sound of intolerable sobbing, hethought that he understood, and nodded his assent. 

They all stepped out, closing the door behind them, and left Grangeralone with his wife. In five minutes the door opened and he joinedthem. His face was grey and tremulous, but his lips were steady andsmiling. "Large enough to crucify us all, " murmured Antoine when hesaw him. Granger knew what he meant--that he was referring to Keewatinand to his sacrifice. He shook his head at him; he was not thinking ofthat. He was thinking of Spurling's shadow, made prisoner by its ownhatred, chained behind the woman weeping in the shack, and of how hehad cheated it of its pitiful revenge. But it was not yet too late forone of his companions, or even Peggy herself, to betray his secret. Hewould not feel that she was safe until Murder Point had been lost tosight. Stepping briskly over to Shattuck he inquired, "Any need ofhandcuffs to-night, Sergeant?"

"Not if you pledge me your word, " he replied: but he spokeabsent-mindedly, taking no steps toward departure. Granger grewimpatient; every moment thus wasted might lose him his chance ofmaking a decent exit from life. He had sought for so many things whichhe had not found, that he was now frenziedly covetous of attainingthis last success. 

"Sergeant, you remember your promise to me that . . . "

Before he had finished his sentence, Shattuck broke in on himexcitedly, exclaiming, "By God, but it's you that it's wanting. Look, over there, down-river to the northeast. "

Turning quickly about to the direction indicated, his eyes fell uponthe bend. There, standing a short way out from the bank on the ice, sothat he could see it clearly, was the figure of a man, _with themoonlight streaming through him_. Granger recognised him by histallness and uprightness. He was waving to him, seeing which he wavedback. As though he had been waiting for that permission, he began tomove up-river with incredible swiftness towards the Point. Having comewithin hailing distance he halted, and putting his hands to his mouthshouted, "Be brave! Be brave! It is only death. "

Had Strangeways stepped out from his grave to taunt him with thefutility of his own words, which had been spoken to comfort him in hisdistress? The apparition was growing vaguer. Just before it vanished, it cried again and waved its hand, "Jesus of Galilee! Jesus Christ!"

The sound reached him faintly as a whisper. He thought that his ownmemory must have spoken till, turning round and scanning the othermen's faces, he saw that they also had heard. 

"What was it that he said?" asked Eyelids. 

"Sounded as though he was swearing, " Shattuck replied. 

But Granger and Antoine knew better; they knew that it was the deadlover giving his approval of this last act of the rival who was to diefor his death. 

The sergeant required no further urging to hasten his departure. Descending to the river-bed, he harnessed in his huskies and set outup the Last Chance, taking with him the independent trader southwards, as he had so often desired, --but to be hanged.