e wanted to see us on important
business. He has a proposal to make, he says, that would be greatly to
our advantage. He's coming along this evening.--What's the matter, Jim?"

Jim was staring blankly at one of the letters he had received. His face
was a picture of distress, misery, despair. Without replying, he went
and knelt down by his bed. He sighed deeply. Slowly his face grew calm
again; then I saw that he was praying. We were silent in respectful
sympathy, but when, in a little, he got up and went out, I followed him.

"Had bad news, old man?"

"I've had a letter that's upset me. I'm in a terrible position. If ever
I wanted strength and guidance, I want it now."

"Heard about that man?"

"Yes, it's him, all right; it's Mosher. I suspicioned it all along.
Here's a letter from my brother. He says there's no doubt that Mosher is
Moseley."

His eyes were stormy, his face tragic in its bitterness.

"Oh, you don't know how I worshipped that woman, trusted her, would have
banked my life on her; and when I was away making money for her she ups
and goes away with that slimy reptile. In the old days I would have torn
him to pieces, but now----"

He sighed distractedly.

"What am I to do? What am I to do? The Good Book says forgive your
enemies, but how can I forgive a wrong like that? And my poor girl--he
deserted her, drove her to the streets. Ugh! if I could kill him by slow
torture, gloat over his agony--but I can't, can I?"

"No, Jim, you can't do anything. Vengeance is the Lord's."

"Yes, I know, I know. But it's hard, it's hard. O my girl, my girl!"

Tears overran his cheeks. He sat down on a log, burying his face in his
hands.

"O God, help and sustain me in this my hour of need."

I was at a loss how to comfort him, and it was while I was waiting there
that suddenly we saw the Halfbreed coming up the trail.

"Better come in, Jim," I said, "and hear what he's got to say."

CHAPTER XVI

We made McCrimmon comfortable. We kept no whisky in the cabin, but we
gave him some hot coffee, which he drank with great satisfaction. Then
he twisted a cigarette, lit it, and looked at us keenly. On his brown,
flattish face were remarkable the impassivity of the Indian and the
astuteness of the Scot. We were regarding him curiously. Jim had
regained his calm, and was quietly watchful. The Prodigal seemed to have
his ears cocked to listen. There was a feeling amongst us as if we had
reached a crisis in ou