Ill as he was from yesterday's touch of the sun, he roused them again at daybreak, and drove them heartlessly on that last day's journey of seventy miles by water. Yet as a gale breaks into squalls, and flaws into calm, so he became inconstant, with moods of furious haste followed by hours when he dared not go on. He might not find Rain alive. So at the outlet of the main lake he let his men cook breakfast; at the Warm Springs they all had a bath; at Kaslo Point landed for supper; and it was not until night was far advanced that they came dead weary to the head of navigation on Hamill Creek.
After a dreamless night Storm found himself fit for travel. At dawn he bathed, said his prayers, cooked breakfast, and finished eating by the time the three Indians awakened. They sat up, each in his robe, and offered thanks to Morning Star that they were to go no farther with this madman. They watched him stow his New Testament and some jerked buffalo beef into the robe which he packed and slung by shoulder cords upon his back.
"Chiefs," observed Falls-in-two, "great medicine men, and even warriors may fulfill a vow, or in grave need venture to take this Ghost Trail. I'll bet you my canoe you don't get back."
"Yes," said Last-one-to-swim-home-with-the-fodder, "my beaver-mother warned me in my dream. 'My beaver-child,' she said, 'you were born lazy, which is incurable, but if you ever do recover, don't attempt the Ghost Trail. But if you do go, prepare yourself with fasting, purification, the beaver bundle ceremonial, and the sacrifice of all your property to the Sun-spirit.' I would not like that part."
"My father," remarked young Wags-his-tail, "did walk this Ghost Trail, to fulfill a vow. The ghosts ate him, and we never found anything except his skull. Yes, and his tail-bone," he added cheerfully.
Storm was laughing as he belted on the hatchet, took up his gun, and offered his hand to his friends.
"We will pray for you," said Falls-in-two grudgingly, "but it's not much use in this case."
"Your scouting is bad," said Last-one-to-swim-home-with-the-fodder. "My dream says you'll get bushed. The best way is not to go."
"Your hunting," said Wags-his-tail, "will make you so thin that the ghosts won't think you're meat. You may get through to the sacred woman's lodge."
Thus thoroughly cheered, Storm took the Ghost Trail, which was very faintly blazed through the dense timber.