of its unreality--that it was but a
game. His sanity warned him that what he had seen had truly happened,
and that the man was dead. This was not the first occasion upon which
he had seen a mirage when the snow was down and the land was white.
There had been times before, when, at the moment of daybreak or
sunset, he had witnessed strange freaks of inverted forest and river
hovering in the sky. Once he had seen an Indian ten miles away,
attacking a wolf which had been caught by the leg in a steel trap,
belonging to another man. So distinctly had he seen his features and
dress that, at a later day, when he had brought in his winter catch of
furs to exchange, he had recognised him; and when he had offered him
the wolf-skin, had accused him of the theft. Moreover, he knew that,
whether the sight which he had witnessed was mirage or fancy, he did
not deserve the leniency for which he prayed. He had had his chance
and warning three times already: once in the Klondike; once after the
arrival of Spurling, when God wrote upon the ice; and once at the
bend, when in the company of Pere Antoine he had mistaken the body of
Strangeways for that of Spurling.

Then there was the appearance of the murderer to be accounted for, and
his motive in slaying. He had been smaller in stature than himself, as
had been the creature at the Shallows, but he had had the same
peculiarities of clothing and was very much alike. Yet he strove to
drive down all his doubts and to believe the thing which he
desired--that the phenomenon was the result of imagination, and that
Spurling was not dead.

He made small progress in his travelling, for his body was worn out by
previous hardships. Sometimes he took over two hours to go three
miles; it was long past midnight when Dead Rat Portage came in sight.

At this point the river made a large curve to the southward and
broadened out into rapids; the portage was eight hundred yards in
length and saved voyageurs six miles, crossing the neck of land by a
narrow trail and picking up the Last Chance River on the other side.
In summer time the York boats were unloaded here, and dragged across
on rollers, the freight being carried on men's backs. As he drew near,
his hope sank; the place looked so gloomy and forbidding. There were
stories told about it and of how it had won its name, which might well
make any man afraid. An old fort, established by the French at the
time when they disputed the possession of Keewa