encircling the slender body of my little companion, and the mules
moving in a monotonous line, and the dingue discreetly jingling--but
again that menacing shadow falls across my page, and truth bids me
tell all, and I, the slave of accuracy, must remember my vows as the
dauntless disciple of truth.

Towards sunset--or that pale parody of sunset which set the forest
swimming in a ghastly, colorless haze--the mammoth's trail of ruin
brought us suddenly out of the trees to the shore of a great sheet of
water.

It was a desolate spot; northward a chaos of sombre peaks rose, piled
up like thunder-clouds along the horizon; east and south the darkening
wilderness spread like a pall. Westward, crawling out into the mist
from our very feet, the gray waste of water moved under the dull sky,
and flat waves slapped the squatting rocks, heavy with slime.

And now I understood why the trail of the mammoth continued straight
into the lake, for on either hand black, filthy tamarack swamps lay
under ghostly sheets of mist. I strove to creep out into the bog,
seeking a footing, but the swamp quaked and the smooth surface
trembled like jelly in a bowl. A stick thrust into the slime sank into
unknown depths.

Vaguely alarmed, I gained the firm land again and looked around,
believing there was no road open but the desolate trail we had
traversed. But I was in error; already the leading mule was wading out
into the water, and the others, one by one, followed.

How wide the lake might be we could not tell, because the band of fog