Burned Bridges

The birch bark Lachlan let him have occasioned him many a rare tussle

before he finally beached it at the Fort. The fall winds were roughening

the lake. It was his first single-handed essay with the paddle. But he

derived a certain satisfaction from winning alone against wind and

water, and also gained food for thought in the odd circumstance of his

growing tendency to get a glow out of purely physical achievements. It

did not irk nor worry him now to sweat and strain for hours on end.

Instead, he found in that continued, concentrated muscular effort a

happy release from troublesome reflection.

His cheque was waiting. As he fingered the green slip whose face value

was one hundred and twenty dollars, one fourth of his yearly stipend, he

felt relieved, and at the same time oddly reluctant. Not until late in

the evening did he get at the root of that reluctance. MacLeod had

hospitably insisted on putting him up. They sat in the factor's living

room before a great roaring fireplace. Their talk had lapsed into

silence. MacLeod leaned back in his chair, pipe in hand, frowning

abstractedly.

"Man," he said at length, his bearded face wrinkled with a smile, "I

wish ye were no a preacher wi' labors i' the vineyard of the Lord tae

occupy yer time. I'd have ye do a job for me."

"A job?" Thompson came out of his preoccupation.

"Aye," MacLeod grunted. "A job. A reg'lar man's job. There'd be a

reasonable compensation in't. It's a pity," he continued dryly, "that a

parson has a mind sae far above purely mateerial conseederation."

"It may surprise you," Mr. Thompson returned almost as dryly, "to know

that I have--to a certain extent--modified my views upon what you term

material considerations. They are, I have found, more important than I

realized."

The factor took his pipe out of his mouth and regarded Thompson with

frank curiosity.

"Well," he remarked finally. "Yer a young man. It's no surprisin'." He

paused a second.

"Would it interest ye--would ye consider givin' a month or two of yer

time to a legitimate enterprise if it was made worth yer while?" he

asked bluntly.

"Yes," Thompson answered with equal directness. "If I knew what it

was--if it's something I can do."

"I'm just marking time at Lone Moose," he went on after a pause. There

was a note of discouragement in his voice. "I'm--well, completely

superfluous there. I'd be tempted--"

He did not go farther. Nor did MacLeod inquire into the nature of the

suggested temptation. He merely nodded understandingly at the first

part of Thompson's reply.

"Ye could do it fine, I think," he said thoughtfully, "wi' the use of

yer head an' the bit coachin' and help I'd provide. It's like this.

Pachugan's no so good a deestrict as it used tae be. The fur trade's

slowin' down, an' the Company's no so keen as it was in the old days

when it was lord o' the North. I mind when a factor was a power--but

that time's past. The Company's got ither fish tae fry. Consequently

there's times when we're i' the pickle of them that had tae make bricks

wi'oot straw. I mean there's times when they dinna gie us the support

needful to make the best of what trade there is. Difficulties of

transportation for one thing, an' a dyin' interest in a decayin' branch

of Company business. Forbye a' that they expect results, just the same.