, who
died when Jim was young, had come from the Old Country.

Then he dwelt with languid enjoyment upon something that happened when
he was a waiter at a fashionable restaurant at Montreal. A party of
English tourists came in one day for lunch. Jim remembered the scene
well: the spacious room with the sunshine on the pillars and the
reflections on glass and silver; the flies about the tables, the
monotonous throb of the electric fan, and the strangers looking for a
place. There were two men, one older than the other, and a girl. Jim
had often pictured her since, and always with a curious satisfaction.
It was not that she was beautiful, although her face was finely molded
and her movements were graceful. It was her delicate fastidiousness
and the hint one got of refinement and cultivation. Although she
smiled now and then, Jim remembered her calm and the tranquillity of
her voice. He had not met a girl like that before, but she went away
with the others, one of whom gave him a dollar, and it was ridiculous
to imagine he would see her again.

This, however, was not important and he got up and went to the
telegraph instrument. He called the next station and was satisfied
when he got an answer. Some Government messages that must not be
delayed were to be sent North and the line was working well. Jim went
back to his chair and soon afterwards leaned forward, listening. He
heard the wind in the pine-tops and the thud of snow, shaken from the
tossing branches, on the roof. That was all, but he had trained his
senses in the woods until they worked unconsciously. Somebody was
coming and he knew it was not Jake.

A minute or two afterwards he heard steps in the snow. The steps were
heavy, as if the men were tired. Somebody knocked and Jim opened the
door. Two men came in and throwing down their packs shook the snow
from their ragged furs. Their boots were broken, their leggins badly
worn, and their faces were pinched with cold.

"I don't suppose you'll turn us out. It's what our packers call pretty
fierce to-night," one remarked.

"Certainly not," said Jim. "Come right up to the fire. How did you
make the shack?"

The strangers advanced and Jim hid his surprise, although they were the
men whose lunch he had served at the Montreal restaurant. He had
learned in the wilds something of the Indian's reserve.

"We hit the wire at dusk," one replied. "We had been climbing with a
party of the Canadian Alpi