The day was well spent when they struggled into Katmai and plodded up to a half-rotted log store, the roof of which was protected from the winter gales by two anchor chains passed over the ridge and made fast to posts well buried in the ground. A globular, quarter-breed Russian trader, with eyes so crossed that he could distinguish nothing at a yard's distance, took them in and administered to their most crying needs, then dispatched an outfit for the guide's body. The initial stage of the journey, Emerson realized with thanksgiving, was over. As soon as he was able to talk he inquired straightway concerning the mail-boat. "She called here three days ago, bound west," said the trader. "That's all right. She'll be back in about a week, eh?" "No; she won't stop here coming back. Her contract don't call for it." "What!" Emerson felt himself sickening. "No, she won't call here till next month; and then if it's storming she'll go on to the westward, and land on her way back." "How long will that be?" "Maybe seven or eight weeks." In his weakened condition the young man groped for the counter to support himself. So the storm's delay at the foot of the Pass had undone him! Fate, in the guise of Winter, had unfurled those floating snow-banners from the mountain peaks to thwart him once more! Instead of losing the accursed thing that had hung over him these past three years, it had merely redoubled its hold; that mocking power had held the bait of Tantalus before his eyes, only to hurl him back into hopeless despair; for, figuring with the utmost nicety, he had reckoned that there was just time to execute his mission, and even a month's delay would mean certain failure. He turned hopelessly toward his two companions, but Fraser had relapsed into a state of coma, while Big George was asleep beside the stove. For a long time he stood silent and musing, while the fat storekeeper regarded him stupidly; then he fumbled with clumsy fingers at his breast, and produced the folded page of a magazine. He held it for a time without opening it; then crushed it slowly in his fist, and flung the crumpled ball into the open coals. He sighed heavily, and turned upon the trader a frost-blackened countenance, out of which all the light had gone. "Give us beds," he said; "we want to sleep." CHAPTER VII AND NEPTUNE TAKES ANOTHER