“When I die and am buried deep,
I’ll return at night to ...”
Then it was gone, and all was still again.
Here’s An Extraordinary Yarn—
The Ghoul and
the Corpse
By G. A. WELLS
THIS is Chris Bonner’s tale, not mine. Please remember that.
I positively will not stand sponsor for it. I used to have a deal of faith in Chris Bonner’s veracity, but that is a thing of the past. He is a liar; a liar without conscience. I as good as told him so to his face. I wonder what kind of fool he thinks I am!
Attend, now, and you shall hear that remarkable tale he told me. It was, and is, a lie. I shall always think so.
He came marching into my igloo up there at Aurora Bay. That is in Alaska, you know, on the Arctic sea. I had been in the back-country trading for pelts for a New York concern, and due to bad luck I didn’t reach the coast until the third day after the last steamer out had gone. And there I was marooned for the winter, without chance of getting out until spring, with a few dozen ignorant Indians for companions. Thank heaven I had plenty of white man’s grub in tins!
As I said, here came Chris Bonner marching in on me the same as you would go down the block a few doors to call on a neighbor.