purpose was lost to sight. Then, when Granger was
twenty-five and had just completed his course of reading for the Bar,
his great chance came. It was the year of the Klondike gold-rush and
Spurling was going out; he wanted a partner, and offered to take
Granger with him if he, in return, would promise to give him one third
of all the gold he mined. Their idea was that, with the money thus
earned, they would be able to provide funds for the following up of
their dream of El Dorado. Granger accepted the offer at once, partly
influenced by his desire to prove to his mother that he _could_ do
something by himself. After a painful farewell, he had departed to
seek his fortune in the North World.

Ah, how his mother had cried when he went away! He recalled all that
to-day, now that he was in Keewatin, and gazed back incredulously upon
that mistaken former self, wondering whether he could have been really
like that. London, indeed! What would he not give to be in London
to-day; to stand in Fleet Street, listening to the roar of the passing
traffic and brushing shoulders with living, companionable men? Ah
well, what good purpose would it serve to think about it! He had
chosen his own fate. Here he was at Murder Point, and he would soon be
married to Peggy, after which, no matter what avalanche of good luck
befell him, there would be no return. What would his proud old mother
say to a little half-breed grandchild? The mere thought made him
smile. In cynical self-derision, he pictured himself accompanied by
his Indian tribe, knocking at the door of the old red house on Clapton
Common--and his reception there. He gave a name to his picture, and it
was "_The Return of the Ne'er-do-well_."

* * * * *

His brain was getting cloudy; he could not tell whether he was asleep
or awake. He felt as if he had been bound hand and foot so that he
could not stir, and had been raised aloft to a dizzy height. He knew
that he was far above the earth, for he was very cold and was
conscious of mists which drifted across his face and left it damp.
Suddenly he discovered that he could open his eyes. Looking down, he
saw with supernatural distinctness the entire course of the frozen
river-bed. Far to the north he could descry Spurling, plodding
desperately on across the thawing ice. A few miles to the west,
perhaps an hour's journey from Murder Point, he could see a second
figure, tall, soldierly, erect, which approached with swift