w after gold," he
muttered to himself.

Just at that moment, the tide being at the ebb, a hundred acres of green
water off the _Druro's_ bow broke into whirling waves and jets of foam
again. All about them, and a mile to seaward, these merry men danced by
the score. Bennie thrilled at the beauty of it. The whaleboat containing
Holliday was now right under the ship's bows.

"I want to look round anyhow," expostulated Bennie. "I've come all the
way from Boston." He felt himself treated like a criminal, felt the
suspicion in Holliday's eye.

The factor laughed. "In that case you certainly deserve sympathy." Then
he hesitated. "Oh, well, come along," he said finally. "We'll see what
we can do for you."

A rope ladder had been thrown over the side and one of the sailors now
lowered Bennie's luggage into the boat. The professor followed, avoiding
with difficulty stepping on his mackintosh as he climbed down the
slippery rounds. Holliday grasped his hand and yanked him to a seat in
the stern.

"Yes," he repeated, "if you've come all the way from Boston I guess
we'll have to put you up for a few days anyway."

A crate of canned goods, a parcel of mail, and a huge bundle of
newspapers were deposited in the bow. Holliday waved his hand. The
_Druro_ churned the water and swung out into midstream again. Bennie
looked curiously after her. To the north lay a sandy shore dotted by a
scraggy forest of dwarf spruce and birch. A few fishing huts and a mass
of wooden shanties fringed the forest. To the east, seaward, many miles
down that great stretch of treacherous, sullen river waited a gray bank
of fog. But overhead the air was crystalline with that sparkling,
scratchy brilliance that is found only in northern climes. Nature seemed
hard, relentless. With his feet entangled in rod cases Professor Hooker
wondered for a moment what on earth he was there for, landing on this
inhospitable coast. Then his eyes sought the genial face of Malcolm
Holliday and hope sprang up anew. For there is that about this genial
frontiersman that draws all men to him alike, be they Scotch or English,
Canadian habitans or Montagnais, and he is the king of the coast, as his
father was before him, or as was old Peter McKenzie, the head factor,
who incidentally cast the best salmon fly ever thrown east of Montreal
or south of Ungava. Bennie found comfort in Holliday's smile, and felt
toward him as a child does toward its mother.

They neared shore and r