ll the day grew dark and it
was difficult to see the next step. Respiration became painful, but
Granger was determined not to halt, for this was one of the accidents
which would help him to come up with Spurling. Feeling his way from
tree 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 was
invaded by a terrible inertia, so that he was half-minded to lie down
and 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 the
storm in a dismal wailing.

He cut their traces and went forward, dragging the sled himself. They
followed him a few paces behind, slinking through the darkness with
their heads down and their tails between their legs. They reminded him
of the timber-wolf on the Forbidden River; there were times when,
catching a partial glimpse of them, he could have sworn that they had
been joined by a third.

By midday the wind died down, the atmosphere began to clear and the
snow to settle. Returning to the river he sought in vain for
Spurling's tracks; either he had passed him in the blackness or they
had been obliterated. He would know the truth in the next six hours
for, if he were still ahead, he would come to his abandoned camp.

Towards sunset he halted and lit a fire; he intended to travel through
the night and was in need of rest. He had fed his huskies and was
stooping above the flames, cooking himself some bacon, when he raised
his eyes to the west. For a minute he crouched, gazing with the
fascination of horror at what he saw taking place apparently not more
than fifty yards away, but with such clearness that it might not have
been more than ten paces. Where ten seconds before there had been
nothing in view but the straight length of river and the snow-capped
forest, dripping with icicles, there was now, hanging above the trees
face-downwards, anchored to the sky by crimson threads, the inverted
image 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 of
bygone voyageurs. Midway in the path was a little cabin, which had
been set up for the shelter of bestormed travellers by employees of
the Hudson Bay. Granger recognised the place; it was Dead Rat Portage,
and must be at least fifteen miles from where he was n