e years ago the old fur-traders stole, and
looted, and murdered the darn neches, and mostly drank themselves to
death when they didn't do it by shootin'. That don't figure a heap in
the boys' reckonin'. What does, is the feller Lorson sent there. The
yarn goes that this feller Nicol--David Nicol--that's his name, I
reckon, has been working for the Seal Bay Trading for some years. He
seems to be some crook, and Harris found him out. Guess he seems to have
cost the Seal Bay outfit a big bunch of money. They were all for sending
him down for penitentiary. Then a sort of miracle happened. Lorson
begged off. Why? It ain't usually Lorson's way. Next thing happens is
Lorson opens up Fort Duggan, and puts the tough in. So the boys are
guessin'. There sure is some sort of murder behind it. Lorson don't miss
things. His chances are mostly a cinch."

"Yes, he's pretty wise." The thoughtful eyes of the trail man were
turned on the sides of the glowing stove so that the saloon-keeper had
no chance of observing them. "You can't guess the things behind Lorson's
smile," he went on. "But I reckon you can figger there's always
something. As far as I can recollect of Fort Duggan--and I haven't been
there these years--I'd say he's no mean judge. I always wondered when a
big corporation would come along and open it up. There's big trade there
in pelts. Still, it's a tough sort of place."

"From what I hear it can't be too tough for the feller Lorson's sent
there. There'll be blood and murder amongst the neches there if they
don't hand over easy."

Alroy laughed immoderately at the prospect he contemplated, and held out
his hand in friendly farewell as his customer prepared to depart.

"Well, so long, Mister," he grinned amiably. "I guess there's things
worse in the world than the shelter of this old shanty. Anyway I'd
sooner you hit the Northern trail than me. I'll be mighty pleased to see
you around come--next year."

"So long."

Alroy's cordiality found very little that was responsive in the other.
Perhaps the trail man understood its exact value. Perhaps he was simply
indifferent. The saloon-keeper served a purpose, and was amply paid for
his service. Anyway he shook hands, and departed without any other
response.

Alroy watched him go. There was nothing else to do at this early hour
with his entire establishment still abed, and Seal Bay's main
thoroughfare still a desert of dirty, rutted snow, some foot or more
deep. He stood i