The track-grader nodded to Weston.

"I guess you needn't stand off," he said. "He knows what he's doing."

They shook hands on it, and then proceeded to discuss ways and means.
It was clear that they might be some time in the wilderness, and would
need provisions, new boots, blankets, a rifle, and a tent; and all of
these things are dear in that country. They recognized that it would
be advisable also to take a horse or mule. Weston did not think that
any of the bush ranchers would hire them one, as horses are not always
brought back from such journeys. This would render it necessary to buy
one; and to meet this expenditure Grenfell had six dollars and Weston
not very much more.

While they were considering what items they could leave out, two or
three men came up the trail from the settlement, which led close by,
and one of them threw Weston a couple of letters.

"Mail-carrier rode in before we left, and I guessed I'd bring them
along," he said.

There was scarcely light enough to see by, and Weston had some little
difficulty in reading the letters. One was from Stirling and ran:

"Start on Monday for Winnipeg. I want a talk with you and may
make a proposition. Enclose order that will frank you over the
C.P.R."

Weston gazed at it with a thoughtful face. Winnipeg was a very long
way off, and it was tolerably clear that Stirling, perhaps influenced
by something his daughter or Major Kinnaird had said, meant to offer
him promotion. Still, though he did not know exactly why, he shrank
from accepting any favor from Miss Stirling's father, and, besides
that, he had already pledged himself to Grenfell. He laid down the
letter and opened the second one. Out of this he took an order on one
of the H.B.C. settlement stores, dated at the Vancouver station. It
was marked duplicate, and read:

"To Agent, Anson's Forks station:

"Provide Mr. Weston with whatever he may require in the shape
of blankets, provisions, and any sundries in your stock for a
prospecting trip."

A sheet of paper had been laid beside it, and Weston's face flushed as
he read, "Won't you accept this with the good wishes of your late
companions?"

It was evidently from Miss Stirling, for it was a woman's writing, and
he did not think an Englishwoman would have said "Won't you," as she
had done. He could recognize the delicacy with which she had refrained
from offering him money, or even stipulating any definite sum in th