out to turn
his horse loose. He returned by way of the harness shed, took the axe
and went to the back of the hut to cut some wood for the night. As he
turned the corner, he saw old Dudgeon with a spade in his hand, entering
the hut by the back door.

"Ah, that's good," the old man exclaimed, when Durham entered the
living-room with an armful of cut wood. "That'll last the night through.
I see you made the tea, so I had mine as I was wanting a feed. You'll
have to boil some more water--there was only enough for one in the first
lot you made."

"I made that tea for myself, Mr. Dudgeon," Durham exclaimed.

"Well, make some more. There's plenty of water in the tank--I won't
charge you any more for using the can twice, though every time it's put
on the fire means so much less life for it."

Durham swung round in heat.

"You're the meanest man on the face of the earth," he cried.

Dudgeon looked at him with his shaggy brows almost obscuring the cold,
hawk-like eyes.

"If you hadn't paid me for your grub and a camp, I'd turn you out of the
place," he snarled. "You've no more gratitude for kindness than a black
fellow."

Durham bit back the angry retort which rose to his lips. Little wonder
the bank people were so indifferent to the old man's safety; little
wonder no one had troubled to bring him news of the incident which
formed the main item of gossip from end to end of the district. If this
was the way he treated a visitor who paid, and paid dearly, for his
board and bed, how, Durham asked himself, would he treat an ordinary
guest?

But he held his peace, refilled the can with water and set it to boil,
Dudgeon sitting in the one chair the room contained, as he stolidly cut
a pipeful of tobacco.

When the water boiled, Durham made a second brew of tea and took his
seat on a stool which was by the table. He helped himself to bread and
meat and commenced his meal, but never a word did Dudgeon speak. He sat
placidly smoking, his eyes on the smouldering embers of the fire,
without as much as a glance in the direction of his visitor.

The sun went down and the interior of the hut grew gloomy.

"Haven't you a lamp?" Durham asked. "I cannot see what I am eating."

"Make the fire up--that's good enough for me," Dudgeon replied without
raising his head.

On the shelf over the fire-place Durham had noticed a kerosene lamp, a
cheap, rickety article with a clear-glass bowl half-full of oil. He rose
from the stool, re