* * * * *

Yet, somehow or other, after another long spell of smoking, talking and
roasting themselves before the great fire, the shadow that had so
suddenly invaded their peaceful camp began to shirt. Perhaps Défago's
efforts, or the return of his quiet and normal attitude accomplished
this; perhaps Simpson himself had exaggerated the affair out of all
proportion to the truth; or possibly the vigorous air of the wilderness
brought its own powers of healing. Whatever the cause, the feeling of
immediate horror seemed to have passed away as mysteriously as it had
come, for nothing occurred to feed it. Simpson began to feel that he had
permitted himself the unreasoning terror of a child. He put it down
partly to a certain subconscious excitement that this wild and immense
scenery generated in his blood, partly to the spell of solitude, and
partly to overfatigue. That pallor in the guide's face was, of course,
uncommonly hard to explain, yet it _might_ have been due in some way to
an effect of firelight, or his own imagination ...He gave it the benefit
of the doubt; he was Scotch.

When a somewhat unordinary emotion has disappeared, the mind always
finds a dozen ways of explaining away its causes ...Simpson lit a last
pipe and tried to laugh to himself. On getting home to Scotland it would
make quite a good story. He did not realize that this laughter was a
sign that terror still lurked in the recesses of his soul--that, in
fact, it was merely one of the conventional signs by which a man,
seriously alarmed, tries to persuade himself that he is _not_ so.

Défago, however, heard that low laughter and looked up with surprise on
his face. The two men stood, side by side, kicking the embers about
before going to bed. It was ten o'clock--a late hour for hunters to be