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Trash Pearly's boat。 Put 'Brien in Pearly's boat。 Casht offlet her go
down Yukon。 'Brien wake up in mornin'。 Current too strongcan't row
boat 'gainst currentmush walk back。 Come back madder 'n hatter。
You an' me headin' for tall timber。 Learn 'm lesshon jes' shame； learn 'm
lesshon。〃
Siskiyou Pearly's boat was empty； save for a pair of oars。 Its gunwale
rubbed against the bank alongside of O'Brien。 They rolled him over into
it。 Mucluc Charley cast off the painter； and Leclaire shoved the boat out
into the current。 Then； exhausted by their labours； they lay down on the
bank and slept。
Next morning all Red Cow knew of the joke that had been played on
Marcus O'Brien。 There were some tall bets as to what would happen to
the two perpetrators when the victim arrived back。 In the afternoon a
lookout was set； so that they would know when he was sighted。 Everybody
wanted to see him come in。 But he didn't come； though they sat up till
midnight。 Nor did he come next day； nor the next。 Red Cow never saw
Marcus O'Brien again； and though many conjectures were entertained； no
certain clue was ever gained to dispel the mystery of his passing。
Only Marcus O'Brien knew； and he never came back to tell。 He
awoke next morning in torment。 His stomach had been calcined by the
inordinate quantity of whisky he had drunk； and was a dry and raging
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furnace。 His head ached all over； inside and out； and； worse than that；
was the pain in his face。 For six hours countless thousands of mosquitoes
had fed upon him； and their ungrateful poison had swollen his face
tremendously。 It was only by a severe exertion of will that he was able to
open narrow slits in his face through which he could peer。 He happened
to move his hands； and they hurt。 He squinted at them； but failed to
recognize them； so puffed were they by the mosquito virus。 He was lost；
or rather； his identity was lost to him。 There was nothing familiar about
him； which； by association of ideas； would cause to rise in his
consciousness the continuity of his existence。 He was divorced utterly
from his past； for there was nothing about him to resurrect in his
consciousness a memory of that past。 Besides； he was so sick and
miserable that he lacked energy and inclination to seek after who and what
he was。
It was not until he discovered a crook in a little finger； caused by an
unset breakage of years before； that he knew himself to be Marcus O'Brien。
On the instant his past rushed into his consciousness。 When he discovered
a blood…blister under a thumb…nail； which he had received the previous
week； his self…identification became doubly sure； and he knew that those
unfamiliar hands belonged to Marcus O'Brien； or； just as much to the point；
that Marcus O'Brien belonged to the hands。 His first thought was that he
was illthat he had had river fever。 It hurt him so much to open his eyes
that he kept them closed。 A small floating branch struck the boat a sharp
rap。 He thought it was some one knocking on the cabin door； and said；
〃Come in。〃 He waited for a while； and then said testily； 〃Stay out； then；
damn you。〃 But just the same he wished they would come in and tell
him about his illness。
But as he lay there； the past night began to reconstruct itself in his
brain。 He hadn't been sick at all； was his thought； he had merely been
drunk； and it was time for him to get up and go to work。 Work suggested
his mine； and he remembered that he had refused ten thousand dollars for
it。 He sat up abruptly and squeezed open his eyes。 He saw himself in a
boat； floating on the swollen brown flood of the Yukon。 The spruce…
covered shores and islands were unfamiliar。 He was stunned for a time。
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He couldn't make it out。 He could remember the last night's orgy； but
there was no connection between that and his present situation。
He closed his eyes and held his aching head in his hands。 What had
happened？ Slowly the dreadful thought arose in his mind。 He fought
against it； strove to drive it away； but it persisted： he had killed
somebody。 That alone could explain why he was in an open boat drifting
down the Yukon。 The law of Red Cow that he had so long administered
had now been administered to him。 He had killed some one and been set
adrift。 But whom？ He racked his aching brain for the answer； but all
that came was a vague memory of bodies falling upon him and of striking
out at them。 Who were they？ Maybe he had killed more than one。 He
reached to his belt。 The knife was missing from its sheath。 He had
done it with that undoubtedly。 But there must have been some reason for
the killing。 He opened his eyes and in a panic began to search about the
boat。 There was no grub； not an ounce of grub。 He sat down with a
groan。 He had killed without provocation。 The extreme rigour of the
law had been visited upon him。
For half an hour he remained motionless； holding his aching head and
trying to think。 Then he cooled his stomach with a drink of water from
overside and felt better。 He stood up； and alone on the wide… stretching
Yukon； with naught but the primeval wilderness to hear； he cursed strong
drink。 After that he tied up to a huge floating pine that was deeper sunk
in the current than the boat and that consequently drifted faster。 He
washed his face and hands； sat down in the stern…sheets； and did some
more thinking。 It was late in June。 It was two thousand miles to Bering
Sea。 The boat was averaging five miles an hour。 There was no
darkness in such high latitudes at that time of the year； and he could run
the river every hour of the twenty…four。 This would mean； d