copper, you had better get busy.
It looks as if the Combine were on your track." He paused and beckoned
Jake. "Well, perhaps there's enough said. We mustn't keep you."

They went off and left Baumstein sitting very still with his fist
clenched.

A few days afterwards, Jim and Jake waited for Carrie one evening on
the veranda at the store. Mrs. Winter had refused to sell the
business, but Jake had engaged extra help and they had arranged for a
long holiday. The store, standing back from the rough board sidewalk,
was small and shabby; the street was torn by transfer-wagon wheels. A
Chinese laundry and a pool-room occupied the other side. Sawmill
refuse and empty coal-oil cans had been dumped in a neighboring vacant
lot. Mean frame houses ran on from the store, some surrounded by a
narrow yard, and some with verandas covered by mosquito gauze so that
they looked like meat-safes. The neighborhood was strangely
unattractive, but one could see the sparkling Inlet and the dark forest
that rolled back to the shining snow.

Jim, sitting in an old rocking-chair, was quietly satisfied. After
taking Mrs. Winter and Carrie to lunch at a smart hotel, he had loafed
about the city without feeling bored. It was nice to know he had
nothing to do and had money to spend. In fact, he had relished a novel
enjoyment when he visited some shops and bought presents for his hosts
without thinking what they cost. Now he languidly looked back on the
years that had gone so quickly since his parents died. They were
strenuous years, marked by hardship, toil, and adventure, for Jim had
not known monotonous quietness. Even when he studied at McGill, he had
worked between the terms in order to pay the fees. Afterwards, finding
no field for such talent as he had, he had sold his labor where he
could. He had seen much and learned much, but he was young and had a
curious feeling that there were fresh experiences in store. By and by
he banished the memories and looked at Jake.

"I smile when I think about the time I hit Martin's camp, pretty hungry
and ragged, and got after him about his sending Davies on our track,"
he said.

Jake laughed. "After all, I guess you took a useful line. Made him
feel he'd got to show us he wasn't a crook."

"Why did he want to show us? What we thought wouldn't matter a hill of
beans."

"The fellow's white," Jake replied.

"Martin is white," Jim agreed, looking at Jake rather hard. "We were
gett