that should finally start them a-running. I could have sworn their
aspect changed a little, and their ranks deepened and pressed more
closely together.

The melancholy shrill cry of a night bird sounded overhead, and suddenly
I nearly lost my balance as the piece of bank I stood upon fell with a
great splash into the river, undermined by the flood. I stepped back
just in time, and went on hunting for firewood again, half laughing at
the odd fancies that crowded so thickly into my mind and cast their
spell upon me. I recall the Swede's remark about moving on next day, and
I was just thinking that I fully agreed with him, when I turned with a
start and saw the subject of my thoughts standing immediately in front
of me. He was quite close. The roar of the elements had covered his
approach.

"You've been gone so long," he shouted above the wind, "I thought
something must have happened to you."

But there was that in his tone, and a certain look in his face as well,
that conveyed to me more than his actual words, and in a flash I
understood the real reason for his coming. It was because the spell of
the place had entered his soul too, and he did not like being alone.

"River still rising," he cried, pointing to the flood in the moonlight,
"and the wind's simply awful."

He always said the same things, but it was the cry for companionship
that gave the real importance to his words.

"Lucky," I cried back, "our tent's in the hollow. I think it'll hold all