HAPTER II

THE PACKER

Weston was engaged with several others flinging gravel into a flat car
with a long-hafted shovel the next morning when Cassidy strode up the
track; and, though the men already had been working hard, they
quickened the pace a little when they saw him. He could tell at a
glance whether a man were doing his utmost, and nothing less would
satisfy him. He knew also exactly how many cubic yards of soil or
gravel could be handled by any particular gang. If the quantity fell
short, there was usually trouble. However, he said nothing to the
others that morning, but beckoned Weston aside, and stood a moment or
two looking at him, with a grimly whimsical twinkle in his eyes.

Weston had not suffered greatly during the struggle of the previous
evening, but there was a discolored bruise on one of his cheeks and a
big lump on his forehead. He was glad to stand still a moment, for he
had been shoveling gravel for several hours, and that is an occupation
that conduces to an unpleasant stiffness about the waist. He was,
however, somewhat puzzled by the red-haired Cassidy's sardonic grin.

"Well," said the latter, with an air of reflection, "I guess you might
do if you got a piece of raw steak from the cook and tied it around
your face."

"For what?" asked Weston, sharply.

"For a packer. The boss's friends are going camping in the bush."

Weston did not answer immediately, for in that country, where roads
are still singularly scarce, packing usually means the transporting of
heavy loads upon one's back. The smaller ranchers are as a rule adept
at it, and when it is necessary, as it sometimes is, will cheerfully
walk over a mountain range with a big sack of flour or other sundries
bound upon their shoulders. Four or five leagues is not considered too
great a distance to pack a bushel or two of seed potatoes, or even a
table for the ranch, and Weston, who had reasons for being aware that
work of the kind is at least as arduous as shoveling gravel, did not
feel greatly tempted by the offer. Cassidy seemed to guess what he was
thinking.

"It's a soft thing I'm putting you on to, as a special favor," he
explained. "It will be up-river most of the way, and I've got a couple
of Siwash to pole the canoes. All you have to do is the cooking, make
camp, and tend to Miss Stirling's friends when they go fishing." He
waved his hand, and added, as though to clinch the argument, "I've
known people of that kind to give