Now that the whole truth in all its ugliness was out, it seemed useless
to deal in further disguise or pretense. They talked openly of the facts
and probabilities. It was not the first time, even in the experience of
Dr. Cathcart, that a man had yielded to the singular seduction of the
Solitudes and gone out of his mind; Defago, moreover, was predisposed to
something of the sort, for he already had a touch of melancholia in his
blood, and his fiber was weakened by bouts of drinking that often lasted
for weeks at a time. Something on this trip--one might never know
precisely what--had sufficed to push him over the line, that was all.
And he had gone, gone off into the great wilderness of trees and lakes
to die by starvation and exhaustion. The chances against his finding
camp again were overwhelming; the delirium that was upon him would also
doubtless have increased, and it was quite likely he might do violence
to himself and so hasten his cruel fate. Even while they talked, indeed,
the end had probably come. On the suggestion of Hank, his old pal,
however, they proposed to wait a little longer and devote the whole of
the following day, from dawn to darkness, to the most systematic search
they could devise. They would divide the territory between them. They
discussed their plan in great detail. All that men could do they would
do. And, meanwhile, they talked about the particular form in which the
singular Panic of the Wilderness had made its attack upon the mind of
the unfortunate guide.
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