not a hopelessly bad lot as men go, only uproarious. There
was not one among them inhuman enough of himself to have tortured a
fellow-creature, but in a crowd each dreaded to appear better than
his fellows, and it was a case of egging each other on. Sam, who had
thought he had already drained his cup of bitterness, found that it
could be filled afresh.

If he had been a tame spirit it would not have hurt him, and before
this the game would have lost its zest for them. It was his helpless
rage which nearly killed him, and which provided their fun. Mahooley,
keeping what had happened to himself, led his tormentors. Sam was
prevented from escaping the place.

Next morning, after he had fed them and they had gone out, he sat down
in his kitchen, worn out and sick with discouragement, trying to think
what to do.

This was his darkest hour. His brain was almost past clear thinking.
His stubborn spirit no longer answered to his need. He had the
hopeless feeling that he had come to the end of his fight. What was
the use of struggling back to the outside world? He had already tried
that. He could not face the thought of enduring another such night,
either. Better the surrounding wilderness--or the lake.

He heard the front door flung open and Mahooley's heavy step in the
mess-room. He jumped up and put his back against the wall. His eyes
instinctively sought for his sharpest knife. He did not purpose
standing any more. However, the jocular leer had disappeared from the
trader's red face. He looked merely business-like now.

"Ain't you finished the dishes? Hell, you're slow! I want you to take
a team and go down to Grier's Point to load up for Graves."

Sam looked at him stupidly.

"Can't you hear me?" said Mahooley. "Get a move on you!"

"I can't get back here before dinner," muttered Sam.

"Who wants you back? One of the breed boys is goin' to cook.
Freighting's your job now. You can draw on the store for a coat and a
pair of blankets. You'll get twelve and a half cents a hundredweight,
so it's up to you to do your own hustling. Better sleep at the Point
nights, so you can start early."

Sam's stiff lips tried to formulate thanks.

"Ah, cut it out!" said Mahooley. "It's just a business proposition."

CHAPTER XVII

AN APPARITION

On the way up the lake the surveyor's party had been driven to seek
shelter in the mouth of Hah-wah-sepi by a westerly gale. They found
the other York boat lying there. Its pa