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230 rain fell in torrents, at brief intervals snatches of star-light intervening, Kanoffsky and Pike were absent until far past midnight, and we had all retired to our bunks with a certain undefined feeling of impending trouble, which every one has felt at times, but which no one can ever fully explain and account for. At last Pike, with an uncertain step, was heard coming in alone. He seated himself before the huge log fire, which had burned well down, but still gave off a ruddy glow from its great heap of fresh coals, partially lighting up the entire cabin, and drawing off his wet boots, remained toasting his feet for some time in moody silence. To inquiries as to the whereabouts of Kanoffsky, he replied somewhat testily that he did not know: that he had left him down at the stores half drunk early in the evening, and knew nothing more about it. His manner was peculiar, and produced the impression on myself and companions that he had been in difficulty with some one, probably over some gambling affair, and was "out of sorts," as well as a little drunk. While he sat there over the fire, one of our party got up, went outside and brought in another back log, which he threw upon the fire to prevent its burning out entirely before morning, and compelling us to rekindle it with matches and wet wood—a task of some difficulty. As he turned back from the fire, he remarked, "I stumbled over something outside there which I cannot make out! It felt like a bag of shot!" Pike looked up uneasily but said nothing. The man who had been out took a brand from the fire and stepping back to the door,