m and joined in a wild, horrible yell that woke the
echoes of the night. The next second they were after him at full speed.

Shorthouse slammed the door in their faces and was at the foot of the
stairs, crouching in the shadow, before they were out upon the landing.
They tore shrieking down the stairs and past him, into the hall; and,
wholly unnoticed, Shorthouse whipped up the stairs again, crossed the
bedroom and dropped from the balcony into the soft snow.

As he ran down the drive he heard behind him in the house the yells of
the maniacs; and when he reached home several hours later Mr. Sidebotham
not only raised his salary but also told him to buy a new hat and
overcoat, and send in the bill to him.

SKELETON LAKE: AN EPISODE IN CAMP

The utter loneliness of our moose-camp on Skeleton Lake had impressed us
from the beginning--in the Quebec backwoods, five days by trail and
canoe from civilisation--and perhaps the singular name contributed a
little to the sensation of eeriness that made itself felt in the camp
circle when once the sun was down and the late October mists began
rising from the lake and winding their way in among the tree trunks.

For, in these regions, all names of lakes and hills and islands have
their origin in some actual event, taking either the name of a chief
participant, such as Smith's Ridge, or claiming a place in the map by
perpetuating some special feature of the journey or the scenery, such as
Long Island, Deep Rapids, or Rainy Lake.

All names thus have their meaning and are usually pretty recently
acquired, while the majority are self-explanatory and suggest human and
pioneer relations. Skeleton Lake, therefore, was a name full of
suggestion, and though none of us knew the origin or the story of its
birth, we all were conscious of a certain lugubrious atmosphere that
haunted its shores and islands, and but for the evidences of recent
moose tracks in its neighbourhood we should probably have pitched our
tents elsewhere.

For several hundred miles in any direction we knew of only one other
party of whites. They had journeyed up on the train with us, getting in
at North Bay, and hailing from Boston way. A common goal and object had
served by way of introduction. But the acquaintance had made little
progress. This noisy, aggressive Yankee did not suit our fancy much as a
possible neighbour, and it was only a slight intimacy between his chief
guide, Jake the Swede, and one of o