right now," he cried, and after a pause, "Nobody's going to hurt
you. Walk right ahead."

Wyllard felt his heart beat furiously, for a dusky, half-seen figure
materialized out of the gloom, and grew into sharper form as it drew
nearer to the sinking fire. The thing was wholly unexpected, almost
incredible, but it was clear that the man could understand English, and
his face was white. In another moment Wyllard's last doubt vanished, and
he sprang forward with a gasp.

"Lewson--Tom Lewson!" he cried.

Charly thrust the man inside the tent, and when somebody lighted a lamp
Lewson sat down stupidly and looked at them. His face was gaunt and
almost blackened by exposure to the frost, his hair was long, and
tattered garments of greasy skins hung about him. There was something
that suggested bewildered incredulity in his eyes.

"It's real?" he said, slowly and haltingly. "You have come at last?"

They assured him that this was the case. For a moment or two the man's
face was distorted with a strange look and he made a hoarse sound in his
throat.

"Lord," he muttered! "if I'm dreaming I don't want to wake."

Charly leaned forward and smote him on the shoulder.

"Shall I hit you like I did that afternoon in the Thompson House on the
Vancouver water front?" he asked.

Then the certainty of the thing seemed to dawn upon the man, for he
quivered, and his eyes half closed. After that he straightened himself
with an effort.

"I should have known, and I think I did," he said, turning to Wyllard.
"Something seemed to tell me that you would come for us when you could."

Wyllard's face flushed, but he made no answer, and it was Charly who
asked the next question:

"The others are dead?"

Lewson made an expressive gesture. "Hopkins was drowned in a crevice of
the ice. I buried Leslie back yonder."

He broke off abruptly, as though speech cost him an effort, and Wyllard
turned to Overweg.

"This is the last of the men I was looking for," he announced.

Overweg quietly nodded. "Then you have my felicitations--but it might be
advisable if you did not tell me too much," he remarked. "Afterwards I
may be questioned by those in authority."

CHAPTER XXIX

CAST AWAY

Tom Lewson had been an hour in camp before he began the story of his
wanderings, and at first, lying propped up on one elbow, with the
lamplight on his worn face, he spoke slowly and with faltering tongue.

"We broke an oar coming off the beach that