Bill stared at the man wide-eyed.

"Fronte McKim?" he cried.

"Aye, Fronte McKim! As sh'u'd 'a' been gineral av all Oirland, England,
an' Injia. Av he'd 'a' been let go he'd licked th' naygers fir-rst an'
diplomated phwat was lift av um. He'd made um shwim off th' field to
kape from dhroundin' in their own blood--an' kep' 'em good aftherward
wid th' buckle ind av a surcingle.

"My toime was up phwin he was kilt, an' Oi quit. F'r Oi niver 'listed
to rot in barracks. Oi wint back to Kerry an' told his mither, th'
pale, sad Lady Constance--God rist her sowl!--that sint foor b'ys to
th' wars that niver come back--an' wud sint foor more if she'd had 'em.

"She give me char-rge av th' owld eshtate, wid th' big house, an th'
lawn as wide an' as grane as th' angel pastures av hiven--an' little
Eily--his sisther--th' purtiest gur-rl owld Oirland iver bred, who was
niver tired av listhenin' to tales av her big brother.

"Oi shtayed till th' Lady Constance died an' little Eily married a rich
man from Noo Yor-rk--Car-rson, or meby Carmen, his name was; an' he
carried her off to Amur-rica. 'Twas not th' same in Kerry afther that,
an' Oi shtrayed from th' gold camps av Australia to th' woods av
Canada."

The far-away look that had crept into the old man's eyes vanished, and
his voice became gruff and hard.

"Oi've hear-rd av yer doin's in th' timber--av yer killin' th' werwolf
in th' midst av her pack--an yer lickin' Moncrossen wid a luk an' a
grin--av yer knockin' out Shtromberg wid t'ree blows av yer fisht.

"Ye might carry th' name av a Noo York money-grubber, but yer hear-rt
is th' hear-rt av a foightin' McKim--an' yer eyes, an' that smile--th'
McKim smile--that's as much a laugh as th' growl av a grizzly--an' more
dangerous thin a cocked gun."

The old man paused and filled his pipe, muttering and chuckling to
himself. Bill grasped his hand, wringing it in a mighty grip.

"You have guessed it," he said huskily. "My name does not matter. I am
a McKim. She was my mother--Eily McKim--and she used to tell me of my
uncle--and of you."

"Did she, now? Did she remember me?" he exclaimed. "God bless th'
little gur-rl. An' she is dead?" Bill nodded, and Daddy Dunnigan drew a
coarse sleeve across his eyes and puffed hard at his short pipe.

"And will you go back with me and work the rest of the winter for
Moncrossen?"

The old man remained silent so long that Bill thought he had not heard.
He was about to repeat the questi