ame into him again, and gave the Great Spirit's
healing to the fingers. This had been the man's safety through how many
years--or how many generations--they did not know; for legends regarding
the pilgrim had grown and were fostered by the medicine men who,
by giving him great age and supernatural power, could, with more
self-respect, apologise for their own incapacity.

So the years--how many it was impossible to tell, since he did not know
or would not say--had gone on; and now, after ceaseless wandering, his
face was turned towards that civilisation out of which he had come so
long ago--or was it so long ago--one generation, or two, or ten? It
seemed to Bickersteth at times as though it were ten, so strange, so
unworldly was his companion. At first he thought that the man remembered
more than he would appear to acknowledge, but he found that after a day
or two everything that happened as they journeyed was also forgotten.

It was only visible things, or sounds, that appeared to open the doors
of memory of the most recent happenings. These happenings, if not
varied, were of critical moment, since, passing down from the land of
unchanging ice and snow, they had come into March and April storms, and
the perils of the rapids and the swollen floods of May. Now, in June,
two years and a month since Bickersteth had gone into the wilds, they
looked down upon the goal of one at least--of the younger man who had
triumphed in his quest up in these wilds abandoned centuries ago.

With the joyous thought in his heart, that he had discovered anew one of
the greatest gold-fields of the world, that a journey unparalleled
had been accomplished, he turned towards his ancient companion, and
a feeling of pity and human love enlarged within him. He, John
Bickersteth, was going into a world again, where--as he believed--a
happy fate awaited him; but what of this old man? He had brought him
out of the wilds, out of the unknown--was he only taking him into the
unknown again? Were there friends, any friends anywhere in the world
waiting for him? He called himself by no name, he said he had no name.
Whence came he? Of whom? Whither was he wending now? Bickersteth had
thought of the problem often, and he had no answer for it save that he
must be taken care of, if not by others, then by himself; for the old
man had saved him from drowning; had also saved him from an awful death
on a March day when he fell into a great hole and was knocked inse