ered had
now been administered to him. He had killed some one and been set
adrift. But whom? He racked his aching brain for the answer, but all
that came was a vague memory of bodies falling upon him and of striking
out at them. Who were they? Maybe he had killed more than one. He
reached to his belt. The knife was missing from its sheath. He had done
it with that undoubtedly. But there must have been some reason for the
killing. He opened his eyes and in a panic began to search about the
boat. There was no grub, not an ounce of grub. He sat down with a
groan. He had killed without provocation. The extreme rigour of the law
had been visited upon him.

For half an hour he remained motionless, holding his aching head and
trying to think. Then he cooled his stomach with a drink of water from
overside and felt better. He stood up, and alone on the wide-stretching
Yukon, with naught but the primeval wilderness to hear, he cursed strong
drink. After that he tied up to a huge floating pine that was deeper
sunk in the current than the boat and that consequently drifted faster.
He washed his face and hands, sat down in the stern-sheets, and did some
more thinking. It was late in June. It was two thousand miles to Bering
Sea. The boat was averaging five miles an hour. There was no darkness
in such high latitudes at that time of the year, and he could run the
river every hour of the twenty-four. This would mean, daily, a hundred
and twenty miles. Strike out the twenty for accidents, and there
remained a hundred miles a day. In twenty days he would reach Bering
Sea. And this would involve no expenditure of energy; the river did the
work. He could lie down in the bottom of the boat and husband his
strength.

For two days he ate nothing. Then, drifting into the Yukon Flats, he
went ashore on the low-lying islands and gathered the eggs of wild geese
and ducks. He had no matches, and ate the eggs raw. They were strong,
but they kept him going. When he crossed the Arctic Circle, he found the
Hudson Bay Company's post. The brigade had not yet arrived from the
Mackenzie, and the post was completely out of grub. He was offered wild-
duck eggs, but he informed them that he had a bushel of the same on the
boat. He was also offered a drink of whisky, which he refused with an
exhibition of violent repugnance. He got matches, however, and after
that he cooked his eggs. Toward the mouth of the river head-winds