-startlingly
abrupt.

"So long," he said coldly.

Just for one moment their eyes met. Steve's were frigidly non-committal.
There was neither friendliness nor dislike in them. There was no emotion
whatsoever. Garstaing's were questioning, searching, and full of an
impulse that might have meant anything. But it was the police officer
who controlled the situation, and the headstrong, intolerant Indian
Agent who was obeying. He passed out, and his "So long" came back to the
man in the doorway as the night swallowed him up.

Steve moved back to the table. In his deliberate fashion he leant over
the lamp chimney and blew the light out. Then he passed out of the room
and closed the door gently. He paused for a moment outside, and stood
gazing in the direction which he knew Garstaing had taken. Presently he
raised one hand and passed it across his broad forehead. It remained
for a moment pressed against the skin, which had suddenly become coldly
moist. His fingers searched their way up through his abundant dark hair.
It was a movement that expressed something like helpless bewilderment.

"Two years!" he muttered. "Two years!"

Then his arm dropped almost nervelessly to his side.

CHAPTER III

THE GOING OF STEVE

There are some personalities which never fail to permeate their
neighbourhood with their presence. Of such was Dr. Ian Ross. His
presence never failed to impress itself. The moment he crossed the
threshold of his home the household became aware of it. There was his
big voice, his deep-throated husky laugh. There was that strong-hearted
kindly humanity always shining in his deep-set, blue eyes.

He had returned from his surgery at the agency for his midday meal, and
his abundant toned hail reached his wife in a remote bedroom in the
almost luxurious home which he had had set up amidst the spruce woods
lining the Deadwater trail.

"Ho, Millie!" he cried. "Ho you, Mill!" he called again, without waiting
for any response.

"I'll be right along, Mac," came back the cheerful reply.

"Fine. But don't stop to change your gown, there's a good soul. Guess
it's feed time, anyway. And not so much 'Mac.' Guess I'm Ross of the
Ross of Ardairlie, which is in the Highlands of Scotland, which is part
of a small group of islands, which are dumped down in the Atlantic off
the west coast of Europe. Maybe--you've heard tell."

The man flung his wide-brimmed hat on a side table in the hall with a
comfortable laugh. T