emember! The wilds draw me--but I'm afraid my nerve's not good
enough. A man must be fit in every way to cross the timber belt."

"Why aren't you fit? Why have you let that fellow Clarke suck the life
and energy out of you, as well as rob you of your money?"

"You hit hard, but I deserve it, and I'll try to explain."

Benson indicated the desolate settlement with a gesture of weariness.
Ugly frame houses straggled, weather-scarred and dilapidated, along one
side of the unpaved street, while unsightly refuse dumps disfigured the
slopes of the ravine in front. There was no sign of activity; but two
or three untidy loungers leaned against a rude shack with "Pool Room"
painted on its dirty windows. All round, the rolling prairie stretched
back to the horizon, washed in dingy drab and gray. The prospect was
dreary and depressing.

"This place," Benson said grimly, "hasn't much to offer one in the way
of relaxation; and, for a man used to something different, life at a
lonely homestead soon loses its charm. Unless he's a keen farmer, he's
apt to go to bits."

"Then, why don't you quit?" Harding asked.

"Where could I go? A man with no profession except the one he hasn't
the means to follow is not of much use at home; and all my money is
sunk in my place here. As things stand, I can't sell it." He turned
to Blake. "I left the army because a financial disaster for which I
wasn't responsible stopped my allowance, and I was in debt.
Eventually, about two thousand pounds were saved out of the wreck; and
I came here with that, feeling badly hipped. Perhaps that was one
reason why I took to whisky; and Clarke, who engaged to teach me
farming, saw that I got plenty of it. Now he has his hands on all
that's mine; but he keeps me fairly supplied with cash, and it saves
trouble to leave things to him."

When Benson stopped, Blake made a sign of comprehension, for he knew
that somewhat exceptional qualities are required of the man who
undertakes the breaking of virgin prairie in the remoter districts. He
must have unflinching courage and stubbornness, and be able to dispense
with all the comforts and amenities of civilized life. No interests
are offered him beyond those connected with his task; for half the year
he must toil unremittingly from dawn till dark, and depend upon his own
resources through the long, bitter winter. For society, he may have a
hired hand, and the loungers in the saloon of the nearest settle