softened the blow, while in place of considering the future his memory reverted without his will to the incidents of that strange journey.  They rose blurred before him as the creations of an evil dream, the wild descent of a rapid, the desperate effort of the portage, the long hours of toil at the paddle, and endless unrolling of whitened pines that crawled by them through the snow.  Now at least, when he could do no more, that stupendous toil was finished.  Turning, he glanced at Alton, who had with apparent difficulty swallowed a little of the tea.  He lay amidst the blankets with eyes closed, breathing unevenly.

“Then you’ll go on to Somasco, Tom, and send back the boys for us.  They may be in time,” he said.

Okanagan strode softly to the entrance of the tent and drew the canvas back.  A moon hung red with frost in the pitiless heavens, the stars shone steelily, and it was evident that the cold of the icy North was laying its grip upon the valley.

“Harry wouldn’t have much use for them when they came.  There’s an ice fringe round the boulders now,” he said.

Seaforth stared out into the glittering night, and groaned, for he knew what happened to wounded men unsheltered from the frost.  His voice was low and harsh as he asked, “Then what is to be done?”

Okanagan replaced the canvas before he answered quietly, “There’s the canon.”

“Yes,” said Seaforth.  “Still, no man has ever gone down it.”

“No.  But the water’s lowest in winter, and a canoe once came through.  I can’t see why another shouldn’t do as well with men in it.  It’s easy getting in, anyway.”

Seaforth laughed mirthlessly.  “Oh, yes.  The question is, will any of us come out again alive?”

As he spoke the sound of the river’s turmoil swelled in a great pulsation about the tent, and Seaforth involuntarily drew in his breath.  The curious glow he had seen there before, however, grew a trifle brighter in his companion’s eyes.

“That,” he said solemnly, “only the Almighty knows, but if we stop here there’ll be an end of Harry.  Now, there are some folks in the old country who’d be sorry if you don’t come back?”

Seaforth smiled a trifle bitterly.  “I don’t think there are.  They had an opportunity of showing their affection before I came out to Canada, and didn’t take it.  I found the best friend I ever had in this country—­and as there seems no other way we’ll try the canon.”

Okanagan sat down again, and hacked away with Alton’s knife at a piece of redwood he was fashioning into a paddle.  Both of them knew that the effort they were to make on their friend’s behalf might well cost their life, but big, untaught bushman and once gently-nurtured Briton were in one respect at least alike, and that was a fact which would never again be mentioned between them.

It was an hour or thereabouts later when Alton opened his eyes.