This had seemed to Granger to be the only explanation which fitted in with all the facts. In accepting it, he had found room for the suspicion that he also had laid waste his life not for the sake of romance, not for his dream's sake, but for the sake of greed alone. Having made gold his hope, having said to the fine gold, "Thou art my confidence," he had committed an iniquity to be punished by the judge.
Had he suffered all that punishment as yet, or was there worse to follow? Would the worst that he could expect be death? Once, when he was poor, he had only feared life; but now, with his treasure beneath his feet, with the canoe gliding southward on the journey out, there was added this new terror--the fear of death. He desired most passionately to live now.
Darkness had fallen and the air was growing colder. Presently, flake by flake, the first snow of winter drifted down. The two men said nothing, but they paddled faster, for the chill struck into their chests through their shirts, making them repent the folly which had led them to abandon their clothing that more gold might be carried. Every now and again, Spurling broke out into a fit of coughing and, as he shivered, the canoe trembled. As for Granger his hands were heavy, his arms ached, and his fingers were numb; he dimly wondered at his own perseverance that he still continued to ply his paddle. As the cold spread through him, his senses took to sleeping. He was aroused by a sudden jerk and a shout from Spurling, "Curse you. Back water. Turn her head out into the river."
Looking up, he saw that they had struck the bank and come near capsizing. And he saw more than that; scarcely two yards away a pair of glowing eyes shone out at him.
"For the sake of God, make haste," cried Spurling; "the brute's about to pounce."
With a twist of the paddle he swung the canoe's head round, and with the help of Spurling drove her out. They were none too early, for, just behind them, where a moment since the canoe had been hanging, they heard a splash.
For the rest of the night they kept watch over themselves lest they slept. Till the dawn broke, whenever they turned their eyes toward the bank, they could discern the grey streak of the timber-wolf, dodging in and out between the tree-trunks, keeping pace with them. So long as they were on the Forbidden River they journeyed both day and night, allowing themselves scant time for rest. If they had been eager to get there, they were still more anxious to get away. When in the middle of the third night they swung out into the Last Chance, they stopped and looked back. The moon was shining; sitting squarely on its haunches they could see the timber-wolf, which had run out on the spit of land to the water's edge, gazing after them malignantly.