had to pay out Treaty Money in the morning, not because
the whole matter would not keep even a week if necessary. Instantly on
reading his instructions from the Indian Commissioner all thought of the
crime to be investigated had passed out of his mind. His thoughts had
flown to Steve Allenwood, and from him they had passed on to another. A
vision of a sweet face with deep, violet eyes, and softly waving fair
hair had leapt to his mind. Furthermore he still retained the sensation
of a soft, warm hand which had been clasped within his under cover of
the friendly fur robe as he drove the wagon back from the dance at
Deadwater.

Two years. The man had spoken with as much indifference as if he had
been contemplating a trip of two days. Garstaing drew a deep breath,
and, returning his pipe to his capacious mouth ignited a match over the
lamp chimney and re-lit it. Then, with a quick, nervous movement he
picked up a separate bunch of the papers on the table before him and
flung them across to his host.

"There you are," he cried, "that's the whole darn official story. You
best keep it awhile, and read it. I got orders to hand you all you need.
Indians, dog-team, rations. Any old thing you fancy. But--" he paused.
His quick-moving eyes became suddenly still. They were gazing directly
into those of the husband beyond the table. "You'll need to start
out--right away."

Steve rose from his seat with a nod.

"I shall know when to start," he replied shortly.

Then he raised his arms above his head and stretched himself luxuriously
while Garstaing sat watching him, endeavouring to penetrate the man's
tremendous barrier of reserve. But it remained impenetrable, and there
was nothing left for him but to comply with his host's tacit invitation.
He, too, rose from his seat.

"You best take a copy of the story," he said, as Steve moved towards the
door. "Anyway I'll need the original later."

He was talking because the other compelled him to talk. And because he
had that in his mind which made it impossible for him to remain silent.

Steve opened the door and peered out. The night was brilliantly
star-lit. Garstaing was close behind him.

"It's tough on you, Allenwood," he said in a tone intended to express
sympathy. "Two years. Gee!"

Steve's only reply was to move aside to let him pass out. It was as
though Garstaing's expression of sympathy had at last found a weakness
in his armour of reserve. His movement had been abrupt-