-all ears and kind intention; and there was Rushton, pouring
out his ready-made tale, with ever-shifting eyes, turning from face to
face, seeking confirmation of details none had witnessed but
himself--and _one other_.

Silver Fizz was the first to recover from the shock of the thing, and to
realise, with the natural sense of chivalry common to most genuine
back-woodsmen, that the man was at a terrible disadvantage. At any rate,
he was the first to start putting the matter to rights.

"Never mind telling it just now," he said in a gruff voice, but with
real gentleness; "get a bite t'eat first and then let her go
afterwards. Better have a horn of whisky too. It ain't all packed yet, I
guess."

"Couldn't eat or drink a thing," cried the other. "Good Lord, don't you
see, man, I want to _talk_ to someone first? I want to get it out of me
to someone who can answer--answer. I've had nothing but trees to talk
with for three days, and I can't carry it alone any longer. Those
cursed, silent trees--I've told it 'em a thousand times. Now, just see
here, it was this way. When we started out from camp--"

He looked fearfully about him, and we realised it was useless to stop
him. The story was bound to come, and come it did.

Now, the story itself was nothing out of the way; such tales are told by
the dozen round any camp fire where men who have knocked about in the
woods are in the circle. It was the way he told it that made our flesh
creep. He was near the truth all along, but he was skimming it, and the
skimming took off the cream that might have saved his soul.

Of course, he smothered it in words--odd words, too--melodramatic,
poetic, out-of-the-way words that lie just on the edge of frenzy. Of
course, too, he kept asking us each in turn, scanning our faces with
those restless, frightened eyes of his, "What would _you_ have done?"
"What else could I do?" and "Was that _my_ fault?" But that was nothing,
for he was no milk-and-water fellow who dealt in hints and suggestions;
he told his story boldly, forcing his conclusions upon us as if we had
been so many wax cylinders of a phonograph that would repeat accurately
what had been told us, and these questions I have mentioned he used to
emphasise any special point that he seemed to think required such
emphasis.

The fact was, however, the picture of what had actually happened was so
vivid still in his own mind that it reached ours by a process of
telepathy which he could not