MacDonald had been listening with growing attention, and throughout the tale Pierre’s gaze had been riveted on his features. Had not a faint tremor passed down his spine when he first heard the word “Windigo”? Had he not caught his breath when he learned of the ghost’s reported wanderings? And why this sudden turning on his heels at the close of the story? Pierre was whistling a tune on the return walk, and the factor roared at him to keep still. He was plainly nervous; the tale had done its work.