him, a Nova Scotian, very silent; and better than himself is the
little brave woman he has for a wife; a really superior woman. I
sometimes wonder--but never mind, for people doubtless wonder at our
wives: one can never get at the bottom of the mystery of why some women
do it. They will see you on your way. Up to this time he was the last
man we had in that direction. Now you are our outpost--a distinction I
envy you."

The Convener's blue eye was alight with enthusiasm. The call of the new
land was ever ringing in his heart, and the sound of the strife at the
front in his ear.

Unconsciously Shock drew in a long breath, the homesickness and
heart-longing gave back before the spirit of high courage and
enterprise which breathed through the words of the little man beside
him, whose fame was in all the Western Church.

"Up these valleys somewhere," continued the Convener, waving his hands
towards the southern sky-line, "are the men--the ranchers and cowboys I
told you of last night. Some good men, and some of them devils--men
good by nature, devils by circumstance, poor fellows. They won't want
you, perhaps, but they need you badly. And the Church wants them,
and"--after a little pause--"God wants them."

The Convener paused, still looking at the distant flowing hills. Then
he turned to Shock and said solemnly, "We look to you to get them."

Shock gasped. "To me! to get them!"

"Yes, that's what we expect. Why! do you remember the old chap I told
you about--that old prospector who lives at Loon Lake?--you will come
across him, unless he has gone to the mountains. For thirteen years
that man has hunted the gulches for mines. There are your mines,"
waving his hand again, "and you are our prospector. Dig them up.
Good-bye. God bless you. Report to me in six months."

The Convener looked at his fingers after Shock had left, spreading them
apart. "Well, what that chap grips he'll hold until he wants to let it
go," he said to himself, wrinkling his face into a curious smile.

Now and then as he walked along the trail he turned and looked after
the buckboard heading toward the southern horizon, but never once did
his missionary look back.

"I think he will do. He made a mess of my service last night, but I
suppose he was rattled, and then no one could be more disgusted than
he, which is not a bad sign. His heart's all right, and he will work,
but he's slow. He's undoubtedly slow. Those fellows will give him a
time, I