of shooting the rapids, where the river fell with sharp zigzags between tall, naked cliffs into Baker Lake, that Dick came to Tempest.
"Have you the dope-box handy?" he said. "Ducane has cramp in the stomach, and he doesn't appear to be liking it any."
Tempest caught up the little medicine-chest and went over to the tent which Ducane shared with Myers and Dick. He sent Myers across to sleep with Depache, and, with Dick, he did what he could for the suffering man. But Ducane was seized with the terrors of the damned. He believed that he was dying, and his agony of mind and body was a painful thing for Tempest to witness. It did not seem to trouble Dick. He did all that he could for the man where he rolled and screamed and cursed; but when he began to call on his wife's name Tempest saw a dangerous glitter in Dick's eyes for a moment. Ducane started up suddenly.
"Robison is dead?" he cried. "You told me Robison was dead."
"Why, yes," said Tempest soothingly. "But you're not going to die. I've seen men much worse than you, and they got over it. Take some more of this, Ducane."
"You've never seen men make more row about it," said Dick. "How are we to tell if it's pain or only fright?"
"Then—if Robison's dead." Ducane was writhing and jerking out his words brokenly. "All these months he's had no masses said for his soul—and I'm dying—and I promised—I swore that I'd go to hell if I broke my word"
"Be easy," said Dick. "I expect your word won't make so much difference as you think. And you don't mean to tell me that you have the elements of religion in you?"
He was kneeling by the mattress and his lean, dark face showed mockingly interested in the faint, blurring light of the candle-lantern. Ducane turned his head from it.
"I don't know," he moaned. "Robison had. I suppose a man needs some religion when he's going to die."
This was O'Hara's cry, and the repetition of it struck Dick unpleasantly.
"Tempest," cried Ducane. "Tempest! Come here.
