wind and then
thinned, leaving bare the higher shoulders of the hills, though a rush
of dingy vapor hid the ice-ribbed peaks above. The canyon was a scene
of appalling desolation, but few of the long-booted men who hurried
among the boulders had leisure to contemplate it. The men were working
for Geoffrey Thurston, who did not encourage idleness.

So the stranger came almost unnoticed into the center of the camp where
Thurston saw him, and asked sharply, "Where do you come from, and what
do you want?"

"I'm a frame-carpenter," answered the new arrival. "Got fired from the
Hastings saw-mill when work slacked down. Couldn't find anybody who
wanted me at Vancouver, so I struck out for the mountains and mines.
Found worse luck up here; spent all my money and wore my clothes out,
but the boss of the Orchard Mill, who took me for a few days, said I
might tell you he recommended me. I'm about played out with getting
here, and I'm mighty hungry."

Geoffrey looked the man over, and decided there was truth in the latter
part of his story. "Take this spanner and wade across to the reef
yonder," he said. "You can begin by giving aid to those men who are
bolting the beams down."

The stranger glanced dubiously at the rush of icy water, thick with
jagged cakes of frozen snow, then at his dilapidated foot gear, and
hesitated. "I'm not great at swimming. It looks deep," he objected.

"You can walk, I suppose," Geoffrey answered. "If you do, it won't
drown you."

The man prepared to obey. He had reached the edge of the water when
Geoffrey called him. "I see you're willing, and I'll take you for a
few weeks any way," he said. "In the meantime a rest wouldn't do you
much harm, and the cook might find you something to keep you from
starving until supper, if you asked him civilly."

"Thanks!" the man answered, with a curious expression in his face. "I
am a bit used up, and I guess I'll see the cook."

Work proceeded until the winter's dusk fell, when a bountiful supper
was served. The stranger, who did full justice to the meal, showed
himself a capable hand when work was resumed under the flaring light of
several huge lamps. That night two of his new comrades sat in the
cook-shed discussing the stranger. One was James Gillow, whom Geoffrey
had first employed at Helen's suggestion, and now replaced the man he
formerly assisted. He was apparently without ambition, and chiefly
remarkable for an antipathy to physical