er thing," he added in a hurried sort of voice, as though he wanted
to say something and get it over. "Queer thing, I mean, about that otter
last night."

I had expected something so totally different that he caught me with
surprise, and I looked up sharply.

"Shows how lonely this place is. Otters are awfully shy things--"

"I don't mean that, of course," he interrupted. "I mean--do you
think--did you think it really was an otter?"

"What else, in the name of Heaven, what else?"

"You know, I saw it before you did, and at first it seemed--so _much_
bigger than an otter."

"The sunset as you looked upstream magnified it, or something," I
replied.

He looked at me absently a moment, as though his mind were busy with
other thoughts.

"It had such extraordinary yellow eyes," he went on half to himself.

"That was the sun too," I laughed, a trifle boisterously. "I suppose
you'll wonder next if that fellow in the boat----"

I suddenly decided not to finish the sentence. He was in the act again
of listening, turning his head to the wind, and something in the
expression of his face made me halt. The subject dropped, and we went on
with our caulking. Apparently he had not noticed my unfinished sentence.
Five minutes later, however, he looked at me across the canoe, the
smoking pitch in his hand, his face exceedingly grave.

"I _did_ rather wonder, if you want to know," he said slowly, "what that
thing in the boat was. I remember thinking at the time it was not a man.
The whole business seemed to rise quite suddenly out of the water."

I laughed again boisterously in his face, but this time there was
impatience and a strain of anger too, in my feeling.

"Look here now," I cried, "this place is quite queer enough without
going out of our way to imagine things! That boat was an ordinary boat,
and the man in it was an ordinary man, and they were both going
downstream as fast as they could lick. And that otter _was_ an otter, so
don't let's play the fool about it!"

He looked steadily at me with the same grave expression. He was not in
the least annoyed. I took courage from his silence.

"And for heaven's sake," I went on, "don't keep pretending you hear
things, because it only gives me the jumps, and there's nothing to hear
but the river and this cursed old thundering wind."

"You _fool_!" he answered in a low, shocked voice, "you utter fool.
That's just the way all victims talk. As if you didn't understand just