ole boss" was equalled only by
his hate of those who robbed while they derided him, and he set himself
to the task of thwarting their nefarious schemes. For this Perault had
incurred the savage wrath of Carroll, and more than once had sufered
bodily injury at his hands.

The Stopping Place was filled with men from the ranges, freighters from
the trail, and the nondescript driftwood that the waves of civilisation
cast up upon those far-away shores of human society. With all of them
Perault was a favourite. Carroll was out when he entered. On all sides
he was greeted with exclamations of surprise, pleasure, and curiosity,
for all knew that he had set out upon another "annual fool hunt," as
the Prospector's yearly expedition was called. "Hello, Rainy, what's
happened?" "Got yer gold dust?" "Goin' to retire, Rainy?" "The Old
Prospector struck his river yit?" greeted him on every side.

"Oui, by gar! He struck heem, for sure," grinned Perault.

"What? The Lost River?" "What? His mine?" chorused the crowd, awakened
to more than ordinary interest.

"Non, not Los' River, but los' man, blank near." And Perault went on to
describe, with dramatic fervour and appropriate gesticulation, the
scene at the Black Dog, bringing out into strong relief his own
helplessness and stupidity, and the cool daring of the stranger who had
snatched his "ole boss" out of the jaws of the Black Dog.

"By Jove!" exclaimed a rancher when the narrative was finished, "not
bad, that. Who was the chap, Rainy?"

"Do' no me. Tink he's one what you call pries'. Your Protestan' pries'."

"What, a preacher?" cried the rancher. "Not he. They're not made that
way."

"I don't know about that, Sinclair," said another rancher. "There's
Father Mike, you know."

"That's so," said Sinclair. "But there are hardly two of that kind on
the same range."

"Fadder Mike!" sniffed Perault contemptuously. "Dat beeg feller hees
roll Fadder Mike up in one beeg bunch an' stick heem in hees pocket.
Dat feller he's not 'fraid noting. Beeg blam-fool, jus' lak ole boss,
for sure."

"I guess he must be good stuff, Rainy, if you put him in that class."

"Dat's hees place," averred Rainy with emphasis. "Jus' lak ole boss."

At this point Carroll came in.

"Hello, Perault!" he said. "What the blank, blank are ye doin' here?"

Perault spat deliberately into the ash-pan, tipped back his chair
without looking at the big Irishman, and answered coolly.

"Me? After one pack po