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but none the less complacently ate the meal which he had cooked。
Weatherbee grinned。 After that the foolish custom of washing passed
out of their lives。
As the sugar…pile and other little luxuries dwindled； they began
to be afraid they were not getting their proper shares； and in order
that they might not be robbed； they fell to gorging themselves。 The
luxuries suffered in this gluttonous contest； as did also the men。
In the absence of fresh vegetables and exercise； their blood became
impoverished； and a loathsome； purplish rash crept over their
bodies。 Yet they refused to heed the warning。 Next； their muscles
and joints began to swell； the flesh turning black； while their
mouths； gums； and lips took on the color of rich cream。 Instead of
being drawn together by their misery； each gloated over the other's
symptoms as the scurvy took its course。
They lost all regard for personal appearance； and for that matter；
common decency。 The cabin became a pigpen； and never once were the
beds made or fresh pine boughs laid underneath。 Yet they could not
keep to their blankets； as they would have wished； for the frost was
inexorable； and the fire box consumed much fuel。 The hair of their
heads and faces grew long and shaggy； while their garments would
have disgusted a ragpicker。 But they did not care。 They were sick； and
there was no one to see； besides； it was very painful to move about。
To all this was added a new trouble… the Fear of the North。 This
Fear was the joint child of the Great Cold and the Great Silence；
and was born in the darkness of December； when the sun dipped below
the horizon for good。 It affected them according to their natures。
Weatherbee fell prey to the grosser superstitions； and did his best to
resurrect the spirits which slept in the forgotten graves。 It was a
fascinating thing； and in his dreams they came to him from out of
the cold； and snuggled into his blankets； and told him of their
toils and troubles ere they died。 He shrank away from the clammy
contact as they drew closer and twined their frozen limbs about him；
and when they whispered in his ear of things to come； the cabin rang
with his frightened shrieks。 Cuthfert did not understand… for they
no longer spoke… and when thus awakened he invariably grabbed for
his revolver。 Then he would sit up in bed； shivering nervously； with
the weapon trained on the unconscious dreamer。 Cuthfert deemed the man
going mad； and so came to fear for his life。
His own malady assumed a less concrete form。 The mysterious
artisan who had laid the cabin； log by log； had pegged a wind…vane
to the ridgepole。 Cuthfert noticed it always pointed south； and one
day； irritated by its steadfastness of purpose； he turned it toward
the east。 He watched eagerly； but never a breath came by to disturb
it。 Then he turned the vane to the north； swearing never again to
touch it till the wind did blow。 But the air frightened him with its
unearthly calm； and he often rose in the middle of the night to see if
the vane had veered… ten degrees would have satisfied him。 But no；
it poised above him as unchangeable as fate。 His imagination ran riot；
till it became to him a fetish。 Sometimes he followed the path it
pointed across the dismal dominions； and allowed his soul to become
saturated with the Fear。 He dwelt upon the unseen and the unknown till
the burden of eternity appeared to be crushing him。 Everything in
the Northland had that crushing effect… the absence of life and
motion； the darkness； the infinite peace of the brooding land； the
ghastly silence； which made the echo of each heartbeat a sacrilege；
the solemn forest which seemed to guard an awful； inexpressible
something； which neither word nor thought could compass。
The world he had so recently left； with its busy nations and great
enterprises； seemed very far away。 Recollections occasionally
obtruded… recollections of marts and galleries and crowded
thoroughfares； of evening dress and social functions； of good men
and dear women he had known… but they were dim memories of a life he
had lived long centuries agone； on some other planet。 This phantasm
was the Reality。 Standing beneath the wind…vane； his eyes fixed on the
polar skies； he could not bring himself to realize that the
Southland really existed； that at that very moment it was a…roar
with life and action。 There was no Southland； no men being born of
women； no giving and taking in marriage。 Beyond his bleak skyline
there stretched vast solitudes； and beyond these still vaster
solitudes。 There were no lands of sunshine； heavy with the perfume
of flowers。 Such things were only old dreams of paradise。 The sunlands
of the West and the spicelands of the East； the smiling Arcadias and
blissful Islands of the Blest… ha！ ha！ His laughter split the void and
shocked him with its unwonted sound。 There was no sun。 This was the
Universe； dead and cold and dark； and he its only citizen。 Weatherbee？
At such moments Weatherbee did not count。 He was a Caliban； a
monstrous phantom； fettered to him for untold ages； the penalty of
some forgotten crime。
He lived with Death among the dead； emasculated by the sense of
his own insignificance； crushed by the passive mastery of the
slumbering ages。 The magnitude of all things appalled him。
Everything partook of the superlative save himself… the perfect
cessation of wind and motion； the immensity of the snow…covered
wildness； the height of the sky and the depth of the silence。 That
wind…vane… if it would only move。 If a thunderbolt would fall； or
the forest flare up in flame。 The rolling up of the heavens as a
scroll； the crash of Doom… anything； anything！ But no； nothing
moved； the Silence crowded in； and the Fear of the North laid icy
fingers on his heart。
Once； like another Crusoe； by the edge of the river he came upon a
track… the faint tracery of a snowshoe rabbit on the delicate
snow…crust。 It was a revelation。 There was life in the Northland。 He
would follow it； look upon it； gloat over it。 He forgot his swollen
muscles； plunging through the deep snow in an ecstasy of anticipation。
The forest swallowed him up； and the brief midday twilight vanished；
but he pursued his quest till exhausted nature asserted itself and
laid him helpless in the snow。 There he groaned and cursed his
folly； and knew the track to be the fancy of his brain； and late
that night he dragged himself into the cabin on hands and knees； his
cheeks frozen and a strange numbness about his feet。 Weatherbee
grinned malevolently； but made no offer to help him。 He thrust needles
into his toes and thawed them out by the stove。 A week later
mortification set in。
But the clerk had his own troubles。 The dead men came out of their
graves more frequently now； and rarely left him； waking or sleeping。
He grew to wait and dread their coming； never passing the twin
cairns without a shudder。 One night they came to him in his sleep
and led him forth to an appointed task。 Frightened into inarticulate
horror； he awoke between the heaps of stones and fled wildly to the
cabin。 But he had lain there for some time； for his feet and cheeks
were also frozen。
Sometimes he became frantic at their insistent presence； and
danced about the cabin； cutting the empty air with an axe； and
smashing everything within reach。 During these ghostly encounters；
Cuthfert huddled into his blankets and followed the madman about
with a cocked revolver； ready to shoot him if he came too near。 But；
recovering from one of these spells； the clerk noticed the weapon
trained upon him。 His suspicions were aroused； and thenceforth he；
too； lived in fear of his life。 They watched each other closely
after that； and faced about in startled fright whenever either
passed behind the other's back。 The apprehensiveness became a mania
which controlled them even in their sleep。 Through mutual fear they
tacitly let the slush…lamp burn all night； and saw to a plentiful
supply of bacon…grease before retiring。 The slightest movement on
the part of one was sufficient to arouse the other； and many a still
watch their gazes countered as they shook beneath their blankets
with fingers on the trigger…guards。
What with the Fear of the North； the mental strain； and the
ravages of the disease； they lost all semblance of humanity； taking on
the appearance of wild beasts； hunted and desperate。 Their cheeks
and noses； as an aftermath of the freezing； had turned black。 Their
frozen toes had begun to drop away at the first and second joints。
Every movement brought pain； but the fire box was insatiable； wringing
a ransom of torture from their miserable bodies。 Day in； day out； it
demanded its food… a veritable pound of flesh… and they dragged
themselves into the forest to chop wood on their knees。 Once； crawling
thus in search of dry sticks； unknown to each other they entered a
thicket from opposite sides。 Suddenly； without warning； two peering
death'