swallow them; and then he sat down and turned to Harding.

"I can't predict the result. We must wait an hour; then I may be able
to form some opinion."

Harding lighted his pipe, and, though he found it strangely hard to sit
still, he smoked steadily. His mouth grew dry with the strain he was
bearing, but he refilled the pipe as it emptied, and bit savagely on
its stem, crushing the wood between his teeth. There was, so far as he
could see, no change in Blake, and he was stirred by a deep pity and a
daunting sense of loneliness. He knew now that he had grown to love
the man; Blake's quick resourcefulness had overcome many of the
obstacles they had met with, his whimsical humor had lightened the
toilsome march, and often when they were wet and worn out be had
banished their dejection by a jest. Now it looked as if they would
hear his cheerful laugh no more; and Harding felt that, if the worst
came, he would, in a sense, be accountable for his partner's death. It
was his sanguine expectations that had drawn Blake into the wilds.

Benson seemed to find the suspense equally trying, but he made no
remark, and there was nothing to be learned from Clarke's impassive
face. Harding could only wait with all the fortitude he could muster;
but he long remembered that momentous hour. They were all perfectly
still; there was no wind, a heavy gray sky overhung them, and the smoke
of the fire went straight up. The gurgle of running water came softly
through the silence.

At last, when Harding felt the tension becoming unendurable, Clarke
glanced at his watch and reopened the small bottle.

"We'll try again," he said gravely; and Harding thought he detected
anxiety in his tone.

The dose was given; and Harding, feeling the urgent need of action if
he were to continue calm, got up and wandered about the muskeg. Coming
back after a while, he looked at Clarke. The doctor merely shook his
head, though his face now showed signs of uneasiness. Harding sat down
again and refilled his pipe, noticing that the stem was nearly bitten
through. He gathered from Clarke's expression that they would soon
know what to expect, and he feared the worst. Now, however, he was
growing cool; his eyes were very stern, and his lips had set in an
ominously determined fashion. Benson, glancing at him once or twice,
thought it boded trouble for the doctor if things went badly. The
American had a ruthless air.

At last Clarke, moving silent