There was a little pause, during which Alton glanced bewilderedly at his comrade, and Deringham glanced round as he poured himself out a whisky and seltzer.

"It's not an uncommon beginning," said Forel. "What was the end?"

"There isn't any," said Seaforth, "but I can tell you the middle. One day the quiet man, who was living by himself way up in the bush, went out hunting, and as he had eaten very little for a week he was tolerably hungry. Well, when he had been out all day be got a deer, and was packing it home at night when he struck a belt of thick timber.

The man was played out from want of food, the deer was heavy, but he dragged himself along thinking of his supper, until something twinkled beneath a fir. He jumped when he saw it, but he wasn't quick enough, and went down with a bullet in him. His rifle fell away from him where he couldn't get it without the other man seeing him, and he was bleeding fast, but still sensible enough to know that nobody would start out on a contract of that kind without his magazine full. It was a tolerably tight place for him--the man was worn out, and almost famishing, and he lay there in the snow, getting fainter every minute, with one leg no use to him."

Seaforth looked round as though to see what impression he had made, and though all the faces were turned towards him it was one among them his eyes rested on. Deringham was leaning forward in his chair with fingers closed more tightly about the glass he held than there seemed any necessity for. His eyes were slightly dilated, and Seaforth fancied he read in them a growing horror.

"He crawled away into the bush?" said somebody.

"No, sir," said Seaforth, "he just wriggled into the undergrowth and waited for the other man."

"Waited for him?" said Forel.

"Yes," said Seaforth. "That is what he did, and when the other man came along peering into the bushes, just reached out and grabbed him by the leg. Then they both rolled over, and I think that must have been a tolerably grim struggle. There they were, alone, far up in the bush, and probably not a living soul within forty miles of them."

Seaforth stopped again and reached out for his glass, while he noticed that Deringham emptied his at a gulp and refilled it with fingers that seemed to shake a trifle.

"And your friend got away?" said somebody.

"No, sir," said Seaforth. "It was the other man. The one I knew had his hand on the other's throat and his knife feeling for a soft place when his adversary broke away from him. He did it just a moment too soon, for while he was getting out through the bush the other one dropped his knife and rolled over in the snow. He lay there a day or two until somebody found him."

Seaforth rose and moved towards the cigar-box on the table. "And that's all," he said.

"Dramatic, but it's a little incomplete, isn't it?" said the Englishman.

Seaforth smiled somewhat dryly, and once more glanced casually towards Deringham. "It may be finished by and by, and I fancy the wind-up will be more dramatic still," he said. "You see the man who would wait for his enemy with only a knife in his hand while his life drained away from him, is scarcely likely to forget an injury."

There was silence for several moments which was broken by a rattle, and a stream of whisky and seltzer dripped from the table.

"Hallo!" said Forel. "Has anything upset you, Deringham?"

Deringham stood up with a little harsh laugh, dabbing It the breast of his shirt with his handkerchief.

"I think the question should apply to my glass, but the room is a trifle hot, and my heart has been troubling me lately," he said.

Forel flung one of the windows open. "I fancy my wife is waiting for us, gentlemen, and I will be with you in a few minutes," he said.

Alton and Seaforth were almost the last to file out of the smoking-room, and when they reached the corridor the former turned upon his comrade with a glint in his half-closed eyes.

"You show a curious taste for a man raised as you have been in the old country," he said. "Now what in the name of thunder made you tell that story?"

Seaforth smiled somewhat inanely. "I don't know; I just felt I had to.

All of us are subject to little weaknesses occasionally."

Alton stopped and looked at him steadily. "Then there will be trouble if you give way to them again. And you put in a good deal more than I ever told anybody. Now you haven't brains enough to figure out all that."

Seaforth laughed good-humouredly. "It is possibly fortunate that Tom has," he said.

"Tom--be condemned," said Alton viciously, and Seaforth, seeing that he was about to revert to the previous question, apparently answered a summons from his host and slipped back into the smoking-room.

Alton waited a moment, and then moved somewhat stiffly towards a low stairway which led to a broad landing that was draped and furnished as an annex to an upper room. One or two of the company were seated there, and he hoped they would not notice him, for while he could walk tolerably well upon the level a stairway presented a difficulty. He had all his life been a vigorous man, and because of it was painfully sensitive about his affliction. Just then Mrs. Forel came out upon the landing, and when the girl she spoke to turned. Alton saw that Alice Deringham was looking down on him. For a moment there was a brightness in his eyes, but it faded suddenly, and while his knee bent under him he set his lips as with pain. Then he stumbled, and clung to the balustrade. For a moment he dare not look up, and when he did so there was a flush on his forehead which slowly died away as he saw the face of the girl.

She had also laid her hand as if for support upon the balustrade, for it was unfortunate she had not been told that one effect of Alton's injury would be permanent. At the commencement of their friendship she had been painfully aware of what she considered his shortcomings, but these had gradually become less evident, and something in the man's forceful personality had carried her away. Possibly, though she may not have realized it, his splendid animal vigour had its part in this--and now dismay and a great pity struggled within her. It was especially unfortunate that when Alton looked up the consternation had risen uppermost, for the man's perceptions were not of the clearest then, and he saw nothing of the compassion, but only the shrinking in her eyes.

His face grew a trifle grey as he straightened himself with a visible effort and limped forward, for he was one who could make a quick decision, while to complete his bitterness Thorne came up behind him and slipped an arm beneath his shoulder.

"You seem a little shaky, I'll help you up," he said. "An axe-cut?

The effect will probably soon wear off."

Alton understood that Thorne was talking to cover any embarrassment he may have felt, but was not especially grateful just then. "No," he said; "a rifle-shot."

He fancied that Thorne was a trifle astonished, and remembered Seaforth's story, but they had gained the head of the stairway now, and he looked at Alice Deringham as he added, "And the effect will not wear off."

Thorne passed through with the others into the lighted room, and Alton stood silent before the girl. She was a trifle pale, and though the pity for him was there, it is possible that she had understood him, and she was very proud. Thus the silence that was perilous lasted too long, and her voice was a trifle strained in place of gentle as she said, "I am so sorry."

Alton, who dared not look at her, now bent his head. "You are very kind--still, it can't be helped," he said. "I think Mrs. Forel is coming back for you. Somebody is going to sing."

Their hostess approached the doorway, and Alice Deringham found words fail her as she watched the man, though she knew that the silence was horribly eloquent. It was Alton who broke it.

"You had better go in. I"--and he smiled bitterly--"will wait until the music commences and they cannot notice me."

The girl could stay no longer, though at last words which would have made a difference to both of them rose to her lips, but Alton waited until he could slip into the room unnoticed, and heard very little of the music. During it Mrs. Forel managed to secure a few words with Thorne.

"You seem to have made friends with rancher Alton," she said.

Thorne smiled a little. "Yes," he said. "Of course I know little about him, but I think that is a man one could trust."

The lady nodded, for he had given her an opportunity. "You know more about his partner?"

Thorne's manner appeared to change a trifle, which Mrs. Forel of course noticed. "Yes," he said.

The lady thoughtfully smoothed out a fold of her dress. "Well," she said with Western frankness, "I want to know a little about him, too."

Thorne smiled as he saw there was no evading the issue. "So I surmised from what your husband asked me. Seaforth was considered a young man of promise when I knew him in England, and his family is unexceptional.

His father, however, lost a good deal of money, which presumably accounts for Charley having turned Canadian rancher."

Mrs. Forel turned so that she could see her companion. "That is not what I mean, and I think I had better talk quite straight to you. Now I like Mr. Seaforth and Mr. Alton, too, and as Jack is mixed up in some business of theirs and they are going to stay down in Vancouver we shall probably see a good deal of them. Jack, however, is sometimes a little hasty in making friends, and I want to know the other reason that brought Mr. Seaforth out from the old country."

"You fancy there is one?" Thorne said quietly.

"Yes. Lieutenant Atkinson made a little blunder one night when he spoke of him."

"Atkinson never had very much sense," Thorne said dryly. "I, however, fancied a man took his standing among you according to what he did in this country."

"Yes," said Mrs. Forel. "The trouble is that the man who has crossed the line once may do so again. Well, you see who these people are, and if he meets them here it means that I vouch for him."

Thorne sighed. "If Atkinson has blundered, I am afraid that I must speak. Now I don't think you need be afraid of Seaforth crossing that line again. He was not worse than foolish and somebody victimized him, but he has had his punishment and borne it very well--while if you knew the whole story you would scarcely blame him."