se things which had suddenly become
the whole aim and desire of his future. He could not leave the Fort
for the adventure of Bell River till he had put beyond all doubt the
hopes he had built on the love that had become the whole meaning of
earthly happiness to him. Bill understood this. So he refrained from
urging, and checked the impatient grumbling of Peigan Charley without
much regard for the scout's feelings.

Murray McTavish continued at his post, undemonstrative, without a sign.
The stream of spring traffic, which consisted chiefly of outfitting on
credit the less provident trappers and pelt-hunters for their summer
campaign, went on without interruption. His projected journey had been
definitely abandoned. But for all his outward manner he was less at
his ease than would have seemed. His eyes were upon Kars at all times.
His delayed departure irritated him. Perhaps he, too, like Bill
Brudenell, understood something of its meaning.

Although his outward seeming had undergone no change, there was a
subtle difference in Murray. His trade methods had hardened. The
trappers who appealed to him in their need left him with a knowledge
that their efforts must be increased if they were to pay off their
credits, and keep up their profits for the next winter's supplies.
Then, too, he avoided Kars, who was sharing the Padre's hospitality,
and even abandoned his nightly visits to the priest, which had been his
habit of years. It was as rarely as possible that he came down to the
Mission, and the clearing only saw him when the demand of nature made
his food imperative.

It was one day, just after his midday dinner, that Murray encountered
Father Jose. He was leaving Ailsa Mowbray's house, and the old priest
protested at his desertion. The trader's answer was ready on the
moment.

"I hate it, Padre," he said, with unnecessary force. "But I can't act
diff'rent. I got to get around for food or starve. This place
wouldn't see me in months else. You see, I had too much to do with
that boy going down to Leaping Horse. And it's broke me up so bad I
can't face it yet--even to myself. Guess Mrs. Mowbray understands
that, too. Say, she's a pretty great woman. If she weren't I'd be
scared for our proposition here. She must get time. They both must,
and the less they see of me, why, it's all to the good. Time'll do
most things for women--for us all, I guess. Then, maybe things'll
settle down--later."

And t