ination of the forest-dweller in the deliberation of their
gaze, and an evident hard and wiry endurance. His dress, from the rough
pea-jacket to the unornamented moccasins, was severely plain.

His companion was hardly more than a boy in years, though more than a
man in physical development. In every respect he seemed to be especially
adapted to the rigours of northern life. The broad arch of his chest,
the plump smoothness of his muscles, above all, the full roundness of
his throat indicated that warmth-giving blood, and plenty of it, would
be pumped generously to every part of his body. His face from any point
of view but one revealed a handsome, jaunty boy, whose beard was still a
shade. But when he looked at one directly, the immaturity fell away.
This might have been because of a certain confidence of experience
beyond what most boys of twenty can know, or it might have been the
result merely of a physical peculiarity. For his eyes were so
extraordinarily close together that they seemed by their very proximity
to pinch the bridge of his nose, and in addition, they possessed a queer
slant or cast which twinkled perpetually now in one, now in the other.
It invested him at once with an air singularly remote and singularly
determined. But at once when he looked away the old boyishness returned,
enhanced further by a certain youthful barbarity in the details of his
dress--a slanted heron's feather in his hat, a beaded knife-sheath, an
excess of ornamentation on his garters and moccasins, and the like.

In a moment one of the men on the veranda began to talk. It was not
Galen Albret, though Galen Albret had summoned them, but MacDonald, his
Chief Trader and his right-hand man. Galen Albret himself made no sign,
but sat, his head sunk forward, watching the men's faces from his
cavernous eyes.

"You have been called for especial duty," began MacDonald, shortly. "It
is volunteer duty, and you need not go unless you want to. We have
called you because you have the reputation of never having failed. That
is not much for you, Herron, because you are young. Still we believe in
you. But you, Bolton, are an old hand on the Trail, and it means a good
deal."

Galen Albret stirred. MacDonald shot a glance in his direction and
hastened on.

"I am going to tell you what we want. If you don't care to tackle the
job, you must know nothing about it. That is distinctly understood?"

He hitched forward nearer the light, scanning the