orporation territory. He told me
he'd just come along through from Labrador."

"Oh, yes?"

Mr. Cantor laughed.

"Why he took me to his crazy shanty and handed me coffee. And he talked.
My, how he talked."

"Did he know you were--prospecting?"

There was no lack of interest in Bull now. His steady eyes were alight,
as he watched the stewards moving amongst the tables, setting the place
straight for the night.

"Yes. I told him."

Cantor's dark eyes were questioning. As Bull remained silent he went on.

"Why? Is he interested for the Skandinavia to keep folk out?"

Bull shook his head.

"No. It isn't that. He's a queer feller. No, I'd say he's got just one
concern in life. It's the boys. But you're right, he knows the whole
thing--the whole game of lumbering in Eastern Canada. And if he told
you and warned you, I'd say it was for your good as he saw it. No. He's
no axe to grind, and though you found him on the Skandinavia's
territory, I don't think he likes them. I'm sure he doesn't. Still, he's
not concerned for any employer. He just comes and goes handing out his
dope to the boys, and--You know the forest-jacks. They're a mighty tough
proposition. Well, it's said they feel about Father Adam so if a hair of
his head was hurt they'd get the feller who did it, and they'd cut the
liver out of him, and pass what was left feed for the coyotes."

Mr. Cantor nodded.

"Yes, I sort of gathered something of that from the folks I hit up
against. It seems queer a feller devoting his life to bumming through
the forests and seekin' shelter where you couldn't find shelter from a
summer dew. He's got no fixed home. Maybe he's sort of crazed."

Bull was prompt in his denial.

"Saner than you or me," he said. "You know I'd want to smile if I didn't
know the man. But I know him, and--but there we all owe him a deal, we
forest men. And maybe I owe him more than anyone."

"How's that?"

Mr. Cantor's question came sharply. Even Bull, tired as he was, noted
the keenly incisive tone of it. He turned, and his steady eyes regarded
the dark face of the lumberman speculatively. Then he smiled, and picked
up his glass and drained the remains of his whisky and soda.

"Why, he's more power for peace with the lumber-jacks of Quebec than if
he was their trade leader," he said, setting his empty glass down on the
table. "We employers owe him there's never any sort of trouble with the
boys."

"I see." Mr. Cantor gazed out across th