walked straight
into camp, but he said nothing to his companions, and there was silence
for a while until Charly rose softly to his feet.

"Get out as quietly as you can," he said, as he slipped by Wyllard, who
crept after him to the entrance.

When he reached it his companion's voice rang out with a startling
vehemence.

"Stop right now!" he cried, and after a pause, "Nobody's going to hurt
you. Walk right ahead."

Then Wyllard felt his heart beat furiously, for a dusky, half-seen
figure materialised out of the gloom, and grew into sharper form as it
drew nearer to the sinking fire. The thing was wholly unexpected,
almost incredible, but it was clear that the man could understand
English, and his face was white. In another moment Wyllard's last
doubt vanished, and he sprang forward with a gasp.

"Lewson--Tom Lewson," he said.

Then Charly thrust the man inside the tent, and when somebody lighted a
lamp he sat down stupidly and looked at them. His face was gaunt and
furrowed, and almost blackened by exposure to the frost, his hair was
long, and tattered garments of greasy skins hung about him. There was
also something that suggested bewildered incredulity in his eyes.

"It's real?" he said, slowly and haltingly. "You have come at last?"

They assured him that this was the case, and for a moment or two the
man's face worked and he made a hoarse sound in his throat.

"Lord," he said, "if I'm dreaming I don't want to wake."

Charly leaned forward and smote him on the shoulder.

"Shall I hit you like I did that afternoon in the Thompson House on the
Vancouver water front?" he asked.

Then the certainty of the thing seemed to dawn upon the man, for he
quivered, and his eyes half closed. After that he straightened himself
with an effort.

"I should have known, and I think I did," he said. "Something seemed
to tell me that you would come for us when you could."

Wyllard's face flushed, but he said nothing, and it was Charly who
asked the next question.

"The others are dead?"

Lewson made a little expressive gesture. "Hopkins was drowned in a
crevice of the ice. I buried Leslie back yonder."

He broke off abruptly, as though speech cost him an effort, and Wyllard
turned to Overweg.

"This is the last of the men I was looking for," he said.

Overweg quietly nodded. "Then you have my felicitations--but it might
be advisable if you did not tell me too much," he said. "Afterwards I
may be quest