nd-up was complete, so as the easier to sort
the animals into their various pastures when they should come in. Her
visitor was standing with his back to the stove, in typical Canadian
fashion. He was, clad in a pair of well-worn chaps drawn over a pair of
moleskin trousers, and wore a gray tweed coat and waistcoat over a soft
cotton shirt, of the "collar attached" type. As he stood there the stoop
of his shoulders was very pronounced. His fair hair was carefully
brushed, and although his face was slightly weather-stained, still, it
was quite easy to imagine the distinguished figure he would be, clad in
all the solemn pomp of broadcloth and the silk glaze of fashionable
society in the neighborhood of Bond Street.

The girl was not looking at her books. She was looking up and smiling at
a remark her companion had just made.

"And so your friend, Pat Nabob, is going up into the mountains after
gold. Does he know anything about prospecting?"

"I think so--he's had some experience."

Jacky became serious. She rose and turned to the window, which commanded
a perfect view of the distant peaks of the Rockies, towering high above
the broad, level expanse of the great muskeg. With her back still turned
to him she fired an abrupt question.

"Say, Bill, guess 'Pickles' has some other reason for this mad scheme.
What is it? You can't tell me he's going just for love of the adventure
of the thing. Now, let's hear the truth."

Unobserved by the girl, her companion shrugged his shoulders.

"If you want his reason you'd better ask him, Jacky. I can only
surmise."

"So can I." Jacky turned sharply. "I'll tell you why he's going, Bill,
and you can bet your last cent I'm right. Lablache is at the bottom of
it. He's at the bottom of everything that causes people to leave Foss
River. He's a blood-sucker."

Bunning-Ford nodded. He was rarely expansive. Moreover, he knew he could
add nothing to what the girl had said. She expressed his sentiments
fully. There was a pause. Jacky was keenly eyeing the tall thin figure
at the stove.

"Why did you come to tell me of this?" she asked at last.

"Thought you'd like to know. You like 'Pickles.'"

"Yes--Bill, you are thinking of going with him."

Her companion laughed uneasily. This girl was very keen.

"I didn't say so."

"No, but still you are thinking of doing so. See here, Bill, tell me all
about it."

Bill coughed. Then he turned, and stooping, shook the ashes from the
stove a