By this time the night was coming on apace, the last of the evil-looking
birds had winged its way across the red sunset glare, and though it was
clear enough in mid-river under the banks, now steep and unclimbable,
it was already evening.

And with the darkness came a wondrous cold breath from off the ice-fields,
blowing through my lowland wrappings as though they were but tissue.
I munched a bit of honey-cake, took a cautious sip of wine, and though I
will not own I was frightened, yet no one will deny that the circumstances
were discouraging.

Standing up in the frail canoe and looking around, at the second glance
an object caught my eye coming with the stream, and rapidly overtaking me
on a strong sluice of water. It was a raft of some sort, and something
extra-ordinarily like a sitting Martian on it! Nearer and nearer it came,
bobbing to the rise and fall of each wavelet with the last icy sunlight
touching it up with reds and golds, nearer and nearer in the deadly
hush of that forsaken region, and then at last so near it showed quite
plainly on the purple water, a raft with some one sitting under a canopy.

With a thrill of delight I waved my cap aloft and shouted--

"Ship-ahoy! Hullo, messmate, where are we bound to?"

But never an answer came from that swiftly-passing stranger, so again
I hailed--

"Put up your helm, Mr. Skipper; I have lost my bearings, and the
chronometer has run down," but without a pause or sound that strange