In after years I could say: 'This, my friends, is Corliss, the great
Arctic explorer, just as he looked at the conclusion of his
world-famous trip _Through Darkest Alaska_.'"
He pointed an ominous finger at her and said sternly, "Where is your
skirt?"
She involuntarily looked down. But its tatterdemalion presence
relieved her, and her face jerked up scarlet.
"You should be ashamed!"
"Please, please do not be dignified," he laughed. "Very true, it
doesn't exactly become you at the present moment. Now, if I had my
camera--"
"Do be quiet and go on," she said. "Tommy is waiting. I hope the sun
takes the skin all off your back," she panted vindictively, as they
slid the canoe down the last shelf and dropped it into the water.
Ten minutes later they climbed the ice-wall, and on and up the bank,
which was partly a hillside, to where the signal of distress still
fluttered. Beneath it, on the ground, lay stretched the man. He lay
very quietly, and the fear that they were too late was upon them, when
he moved his head slightly and moaned. His rough clothes were in rags,
and the black, bruised flesh of his feet showed through the remnants of
his moccasins. His body was thin and gaunt, without flesh-pads or
muscles, while the bones seemed ready to break through the
tight-stretched skin. As Corliss felt his pulse, his eyes fluttered
open and stared glassily.
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