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'