impossible for any ordinary animal to have made. Like huge flying leaps
they became. One of these he measured, and though he knew that "stretch"
of eighteen feet must be somehow wrong, he was at a complete loss to
understand why he found no signs on the snow between the extreme points.
But what perplexed him even more, making him feel his vision had gone
utterly awry, was that Défago's stride increased in the same manner, and
finally covered the same incredible distances. It looked as if the great
beast had lifted him with it and carried him across these astonishing
intervals. Simpson, who was much longer in the limb, found that he could
not compass even half the stretch by taking a running jump.

And the sight of these huge tracks, running side by side, silent
evidence of a dreadful journey in which terror or madness had urged to
impossible results, was profoundly moving. It shocked him in the secret
depths of his soul. It was the most horrible thing his eyes had ever
looked upon. He began to follow them mechanically, absentmindedly
almost, ever peering over his shoulder to see if he, too, were being
followed by something with a gigantic tread.... And soon it came about
that he no longer quite realized what it was they signified--these
impressions left upon the snow by something nameless and untamed, always
accompanied by the footmarks of the little French Canadian, his guide,
his comrade, the man who had shared his tent a few hours before,
chatting, laughing, even singing by his side....




V