dden thing in Dirty Fingers' remarkable brain. Because he
believed in this metaphysics which he had not read out of Aristotle, he
had faith that Fingers would prove his salvation. He felt growing in
him stronger than ever a strange kind of elation. He felt better
physically than last night. The few minutes of strenuous action in
which he had half killed Mercer had been a pretty good test, he told
himself. It had left no bad effect, and he need no longer fear the
reopening of his wound.

A dozen times he had heard a far door open and close. Now he heard it
again, and a few moments later it was followed by a sound which drew a
low cry of satisfaction from him. Dirty Fingers, because of overweight
and lack of exercise, had what he called an "asthmatic wind," and it
was this strenuous working of his lungs that announced his approach to
Kent. His dog was also afflicted and for the same reasons, so that when
they traveled together there was some rivalry between them.

"We're both bad put out for wind, thank God," Dirty Fingers would say
sometimes. "It's a good thing, for if we had more of it, we'd walk
farther, and we don't like walking."

The dog was with Fingers now, also Father Layonne, and Pelly. Pelly
unlocked the cell, then relocked it again after Fingers and the dog
entered. With a nod and a hopeful look the missioner returned with
Pelly to the detachment office. Fingers wiped his red face with a big
handkerchief, gasping deeply for breath. Togs, his dog, was panting as
if he had just finished the race of his life.

"A difficult climb," wheezed Fingers. "A most difficult climb."

He sat down, rolling out like a great bag of jelly in the one chair in
the cell, and began to fan himself with his hat. Kent had already taken
stock of the situation. In Fingers' florid countenance and in his
almost colorless eyes he detected a bit of excitement which Fingers was
trying to hide. Kent knew what it meant. Father Layonne had found it
necessary to play his full hand to lure Fingers up the hill, and had
given him a hint of what it was that Kent had in store for him. Already
the psychological key had begun to work.

Kent sat down on the edge of his cot and grinned sympathetically. "It
hasn't always been like this, has it, Fingers?" he said then, leaning a
bit forward and speaking with a sudden, low-voiced seriousness. "There
was a time, twenty years ago, when you didn't puff after climbing a
hill. Twenty years make a big diffe