uld properly seize or
name it. Approximate description, even, seems to have been difficult,
for it was unlike any smell he knew. Acrid rather, not unlike the odor
of a lion, he thinks, yet softer and not wholly unpleasing, with
something almost sweet in it that reminded him of the scent of decaying
garden leaves, earth, and the myriad, nameless perfumes that make up the
odor of a big forest. Yet the "odor of lions" is the phrase with which
he usually sums it all up.

Then--it was wholly gone, and he found himself standing by the ashes of
the fire in a state of amazement and stupid terror that left him the
helpless prey of anything that chose to happen. Had a muskrat poked its
pointed muzzle over a rock, or a squirrel scuttled in that instant down
the bark of a tree, he would most likely have collapsed without more ado
and fainted. For he felt about the whole affair the touch somewhere of a
great Outer Horror ... and his scattered powers had not as yet had time
to collect themselves into a definite attitude of fighting self-control.

Nothing did happen, however. A great kiss of wind ran softly through the
awakening forest, and a few maple leaves here and there rustled
tremblingly to earth. The sky seemed to grow suddenly much lighter.
Simpson felt the cool air upon his cheek and uncovered head; realized
that he was shivering with the cold; and, making a great effort,
realized next that he was alone in the Bush--_and_ that he was called
upon to take immediate steps to find and succor his vanished companion.

Make an effort, accordingly, he did, though an ill-calculated and futile
one. With that wilderness of trees about him, the sheet of water cutting
him off behind, and the horror of that wild cry in his blood, he did
what any other inexperienced man would have done in similar
bewilderment: he ran about, without any sense of direction, like a
frantic child, and called loudly without ceasing the name of the guide:

"Defago! Defago! Defago!" he yelled, and the trees gave him back the
name as often as he shouted, only a little softened--"Defago! Defago!
Defago!"

He followed the trail that lay a short distance across the patches of
snow, and then lost it again where the trees grew too thickly for snow
to lie. He shouted till he was hoarse, and till the sound of his own
voice in all that unanswering and listening world began to frighten him.
His confusion increased in direct ratio to the violence of his efforts.
His dis