Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 26, 2025
And then "Défago," smiling whitely, answered in that thin and fading voice that already seemed passing over into a sound of quite another character "I seen that great Wendigo thing," he whispered, sniffing the air about him exactly like an animal. "I been with it too " Whether the poor devil would have said more, or whether Dr.
It was no less a person than himself, however less experienced and adroit than the others though he was who gave instinctive utterance to the sentence that brought a measure of relief into the ghastly situation by expressing the doubt and thought in each one's heart. "It is YOU, isn't it, Défago?" he asked under his breath, horror breaking his speech.
The sense of his utter loneliness, now that even Défago had gone, came close as he looked about him and listened for the sound of his companion's returning footsteps. There was pleasure in the sensation, yet with it a perfectly comprehensible alarm. And instinctively the thought stirred in him: "What should I could I, do if anything happened and he did not come back ?"
Joseph Défago was a French "Canuck," who had strayed from his native Province of Quebec years before, and had got caught in Rat Portage when the Canadian Pacific Railway was a-building; a man who, in addition to his unparalleled knowledge of wood-craft and bush-lore, could also sing the old voyageur songs and tell a capital hunting yarn into the bargain.
"All the same I wouldn't laugh about it, if I was you," Défago added, looking over Simpson's shoulder into the shadows. "There's places in there nobody won't never see into nobody knows what lives in there either." "Too big too far off?" The suggestion in the guide's manner was immense and horrible. Défago nodded. The expression on his face was dark. He, too, felt uneasy.
Cathcart then likewise turned in, weariness and sleep still fighting in his mind with an obscure curiosity to know what it was that had scared Défago about the country up Fifty Island Water way, wondering, too, why Punk's presence had prevented the completion of what Hank had to say. Then sleep overtook him. He would know tomorrow.
Most certainly he has no recollection of fastening on his ski; he must have done it automatically. Some faculty of normal observation was in abeyance, as it were. His mind was out beyond the village out with the snowy mountains and the moon. Henri Defago, putting up the shutters over his cafe windows, saw him pass, and wondered mildly: "Un monsieur qui fait du ski a cette heure!
White men, with their dull scent, might never have divined them; the fragrance of the wood fire would have concealed from them these almost electrical hints of moss and bark and hardening swamp a hundred miles away. Even Hank and Défago, subtly in league with the soul of the woods as they were, would probably have spread their delicate nostrils in vain....
He knew in that moment all the pains of someone hopelessly and irretrievably lost, suffering the lust and travail of a soul in the final Loneliness. A vision of Défago, eternally hunted, driven and pursued across the skiey vastness of those ancient forests fled like a flame across the dark ruin of his thoughts ...
This time, according to a careful plan, he took a new direction, intending to make a wide sweep that must sooner or later cut into indications of the guide's trail; and, before he had gone a quarter of a mile he came across the tracks of a large animal in the snow, and beside it the light and smaller tracks of what were beyond question human feet the feet of Défago.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking