denly. "There won't be more asked of you than a man can stand. And you are a man."
"I should hope so. Well"—he shook himself. "Let her roll into it," he said. "When do I go out?"
"On the York boats—Barney's gang, to-morrow. The new man is riding up now."
"Quick work. But, of course—with the ice coming an' all. Who's the new man, Sergeant? Been this way before?"
"He has been all over. But he comes from Macleod. He has lately been promoted Corporal, and his name," Tempest's voice altered slightly—"his name is Heriot; R. L. Heriot."
"That'll be Dick Heriot, I guess. Can ride most things that have two sides to 'em, folk say. I've heard o' him."
Tempest had heard of him also, although it was not necessary to say so. For two days he hid the trouble in his eyes; but when he met Dick the shadow was lifted.
"What are we going to do?" he said. "We have always run together before. Are you strong enough to obey me, Dick?"
"If you're strong enough to make me!" said Dick, and laughed.
"By, I'll make you," said Tempest. "But it's a poor look-out for the Force if I've got to make you, old man."
Dick moved restlessly. The pull of this man was on him again, and he knew that he would resist more than he gave to it all the days of his life. For the good which he could see and reverence was greater than the good which he wanted to do.
"I guess you'll whittle me into my hole," he said. "But I'm hard wood. I'll break your knives."
"I don't want to whittle you," said Tempest, staring out with his head between his hands. "Aren't you man enough to do it for yourself?"
Dick laughed and walked to the window.
"Lord, yes," he said. "I've whittled myself slab-sided. I've whittled my soul out and put a whiskey-peg in its place. I've loaned my youth where I didn't ought, and
