mpatience for the arrival of
the parties from the bush hardly permitted him to do more than taste the
meal she provided. Within doors he could not stay, though weary enough
to want rest. The few log-cabins of the 'Corner' looked more drowsily
quiet than usual; the sawmill was silent. Zack was turning over some
soiled and scribbled ledgers on his counter. Suddenly a shot in the
woods quite near: a detachment of the searchers had arrived.

That the rejoicing would take its usual form, an emptying of his
spirit-kegs, Zack Bunting had never doubted. But the second word to
the bargain, Mr. Wynn's promise to stand treat, had not been given,
though it was a mere matter of form, Zack thought. Robert spoke to the
neighbours, and thanked them collectively for their exertions in a most
cordial manner on behalf of himself and his brother, and was turning to
go home, when the Yankee storekeeper touched his elbow.

''Tain't the usual doins to let 'em away dry,' suggested he, with a
meaning smile. ''Spose you stand treat now; 'twill fix the business
handsome.'

That keen snaky eye of his could easily read the momentary struggle in
Robert's mind between the desire not to appear singular and unfriendly,
and the dislike to encouraging that whisky drinking which is the bane of
working men everywhere, but most especially in the colonies. Sam Holt
watched for his decision. Perhaps the knowledge of what that calm strong
nature by his side would do helped to confirm Robert's wavering into
bold action.

'Certainly not,' he said loudly, that all might hear. 'I'll not give
any whisky on any account. It ruins nine-tenths of the people. I'm quite
willing to reward those who have kindly given time and trouble to help
me, but it shall not be in that way.'

Zack's smoke-dried complexion became whitewashed with disappointment.

A day or two afterwards, Zack's son, Nimrod, made his appearance at the
Wynns' shanty.

'I say, but you're a prime chap arter the rise you took out of the ole
coon,' was his first remark. 'Uncle Zack was as sartin as I stand of
five gallons gone, anyhow; and 'twar a rael balk to put him an' them off
with an apology. I guess you won't mind their sayin' it's the truth of a
shabby dodge, though.'

'Not a bit,' replied Robert; 'I expected something of the kind. I didn't
imagine I'd please anybody but my own conscience.'

'"Conscience!"' reiterated Nim, with a sneer. 'That stock hain't a long
life in the bush, I guess. A