“Maybe it’s something international,” suggested Barney.

“Yes,” grinned Bruce, suddenly awaking from these wild speculations, “and maybe he’s just some sort of bloomin’ sport coming up here to take moving pictures of caribou herds, or to shoot white whale in Hudson Bay!  Guess we better get back to work.”

“Ye’ll pardon an old man’s foolish questions?”

Both boys turned at the words.  An old man with bent shoulders, sunken chest and trembling hand stood beside them.  There was an eager, questioning look in his kindly eyes, as he said in quaint Scotch accent: 

“Ye’ll noo be goin’ to the woods a’ soon?”

“I don’t know,” said Bruce, in a friendly tone.  He was puzzled by the old man’s question, having recognized him as a second cook for the steel-laying gang.

“Fer if ye be,” continued the man, “ye’s be keepin’ a lookout fer Timmie noo, wouldn’t ye though?”

“Who’s Timmie?” asked Bruce.

“Timmie?  Hae ye never hearn o’ Timmie?  Timmie; the boy it was, seventeen he was then.  But ’twas twelve years ago it was, lad.  He’d be a man noo.  I sent him fer the bag wi’ the pay-roll in it, an’ he never coom back.  It was the money thet done it, fer mind ye, I’m tellin’ ye, he was jest a boy, seventeen.  He went away to the woods wi’ it, and then was shamed to coom back, I know.  So if ye’ll be goin’ to the woods ye’ll be watchin’ noo, won’t ye?”

“Was he your boy?”

“No, not mine.  But ‘twas I was to blame; sendin’ him fer th’ pay; an’ him so young.  Five thousand seven hundred and twenty-four dollars it was, of the logging company’s money; a month’s pay fer the men.  An’ if ye see him tell him I was all to blame.  Tell him to coom back; the Province’ll fergive him.”

“And the company?” asked Bruce.

“Partners both dead.  Died poor.  No.  ’Twasn’t the loss of thet money.  They had many losses.  Contractin’s a fearfu’ uncertain business; fearfu’ uncertain.”  The old man shook his head slowly.

“Any heirs?” asked Bruce.

“Heirs?  To the partners?  Yes, one.  A girl, noo.  Ye’ll be kenin’ the lass thet helps in the boardin’ shack where you and the bosses eat?” “La Vaune?” grinned Barney, poking Bruce in the ribs.  “Do you know her?” La Vaune, the little black-eyed French Canadian, had taken quite a liking to her handsome young fellow-countryman, Bruce.

“Well, noo,” said the old Scotchman.  “Thet’s the lass noo.  An’ should you find the money noo, it will all be hers.  An’ ye’ll be lookin’ fer it noo, won’t ye?  Many’s the time I took a wee snack and a blanket an’ made a wee pack an’ gone into the woods to find him.  But I hae never seen track o’ him.  He’ll nae be by Lake Athapapukskow, fer there’s folks there; not by Lake Weskusko neither, fer I been there, but som’ers in the woods Timmie is, an’ if he’s dead his shack’ll be there an’ the money, fer he never coom out o’ th’ woods again, thet shamed he was.”