as
listening to the trader in that watchful manner of one deeply
interested. They were talking of Alec, and the prospects of the new
decision. Murray's thoughts were finding harsh expression.

"Say, we're all between the devil and the deep sea," he said, with a
hard laugh. "The boy's only fit to be tied to a woman's strings.
That's how I see it. Just as I see the other side of it. He's got to
be allowed to make his own gait. If he doesn't, why--things are just
going to break some way."

The priest nodded. He was troubled, and his trouble looked out of his
keen eyes.

"Yes," he agreed. "And the devil's mostly in the deep waters, too.
It's devil all around."

"Sure it is." Murray bent down to the stove and lit a twist of paper
for his pipe. "Do you know the thing that's going to happen? When we
get clear away from here, and that boy's pocket is filled with the
bills his ma has handed him, I'll have as much hold on him as he's
going to have on those dollars. If I butt in he'll send me to hell
quick. And if I don't feel like taking his dope lying down there'll be
something like murder done. If I'm any judge of boys, or men, that
kid's going to find every muck hole in Leaping Horse--and there's
some--and he's going to wallow in 'em till some one comes along and
hauls him clear of the filth. What he's going to be like after--why,
the thought makes me sweat! And Allan--Allan was my friend."

"But--you advised his mother?" The priest's eyes were searching.

Murray crushed his paper tight in his hand.

"How'd you have done?" he demanded shortly.

The priest weighed his words before replying.

"The same as you," he said at last. "Life's full up of pot holes. We
can't learn to navigate right if we don't fall into some of them. I've
taught that boy from his first days. He's the makings of anything, in
a way. He can't be kept here. He's got to get out, and work off his
youthful insanity. Whatever comes of it, it won't be so bad as if he
stopped around. I think you've done the best." He sighed. "We must
hope, and watch, and--be ready to help when the signal comes. God
grant he comes to no----"

He broke off and turned towards the heavy closed door of the shanty, in
response to a sharp knocking. In a moment he was on his feet as the
door was thrust open, and two familiar figures pushed their way in.

"Why, John Kars, this is the best sight I've had in weeks," cried the
priest, with cordiality