ahead of
the Lyman bead.

The solitude had done its work; the North had played its grim comedy to
the final curtain, making sport of men's affections and turning love to
rankling hate. But into the mind of each man crept a certain craftiness.
Each longed to strike, but feared to face the consequences. It was
lonesome, here among the white hills and the deathly silences, yet they
reflected that it would be still more lonesome if they were left to keep
step with nothing more substantial than a memory. They determined,
therefore, to wait until civilization was nearer, meanwhile rehearsing
the moment they knew was inevitable. Over and over in their thoughts
each of them enacted the scene, ending it always with the picture of a
prostrate man in a patch of trampled snow which grew crimson as the
other gloated.

They paused at Bethel Mission long enough to load with dried salmon,
then made the ninety-mile portage over lake and tundra to the Yukon.
There they got their first touch of the "inside" world. They camped in a
barabara where white men had slept a few nights before, and heard their
own language spoken by native tongues. The time was growing short now,
and they purposely dismissed their guide, knowing that the trail was
plain from there on. When they hitched up, on the next morning, Cantwell
placed the ax, bit down, between the tarpaulin and the sled rail,
leaving the helve projecting where his hand could reach it. Grant thrust
the barrel of the rifle beneath a lashing, with the butt close by the
handle-bars, and it was loaded.

A mile from the village they were overtaken by an Indian and his squaw,
traveling light behind hungry dogs. The natives attached themselves to
the white men and hung stubbornly to their heels, taking advantage of
their tracks. When night came they camped alongside, in the hope of
food. They announced that they were bound for St. Michaels, and in spite
of every effort to shake them off they remained close behind the
partners until that point was reached.

At St. Michaels there were white men, practically the first Johnny and
Mort had encountered since landing at Katmai, and for a day at least
they were sane. But there were still three hundred miles to be traveled,
three hundred miles of solitude and haunting thoughts. Just as they were
about to start, Cantwell came upon Grant and the A. C. agent, and heard
his name pronounced, also the word "Katmai." He noted that Mort fell
silent at his app