Alton groaned, and his face was a study of consternation.  “Lord, what brutes we are,” he said.  “There was the trouble over the Bluebird claim down in Washington.  Did I talk about that?”

Seaforth crossed over and sat down on the arm of his comrade’s chair.  His expression was somewhat whimsical, but there was a suggestion of tenderness in his eyes, for he saw the direction in which Alton’s thoughts were tending, and that he should speak of such matters to him betokened the closeness of the bond between them.

“I don’t think you need worry about it, Harry.” he said.

“No?” said Alton sternly.  “Are those the things you would like a dainty English lady who knows nothing of what we have to do now and then to hear?”

Seaforth smiled again as he said, “Miss Deringham struck me as an especially sensible young woman.  Now you need not get savage, for I am speaking respectfully, but I fancy that Miss Deringham knows almost as much about the ins and outs of life as many bush ranchers of seventy.  Young women brought up as she has been in the old country not infrequently do, and as it happened you mentioned nothing about that last affair in the bush; while though one or two incidents were somewhat startling, there are, I fancy, girls in the old country who would be rather inclined to look with approval on—­the type of man she might have reason for supposing you to be.  In any case, there was no word of any other woman.”

Alton drew in his breath.  “No,” he said simply.  “Thank God, there never was another.”

Seaforth’s expression perplexed his comrade, and his voice was a trifle strained.  “Yes,” he said.  “That is a good deal to be thankful for, Harry.”

Alton looked at him thoughtfully in silence for a space.  Then he said, “I never asked you any questions about the old country, Charley, and I don’t mean to now, but I have fancied now and then that you brought out some trouble along with you.”

Seaforth glanced down at his comrade, smiling curiously.  “I may tell you some time—­but not now.  You do well to be thankful, Harry, and do you believe that any woman would think the worse of you because you cut down the man who meant to take your life, you big, great-natured fool?”

Alton sighed.  “Well,” he said very slowly, “perhaps it is better over, because that and other things would have to be told; but though I had only an axe against his pistol I can’t get that man’s face out of my memory.”

Seaforth’s face was somewhat awry just then.  “You can tell your story without a blush—­if you think it necessary, but I have not the courage to tell mine—­and the silence may cost me very dear,” he said.

Alton seemed a trifle bewildered.  “When you can I’ll listen, but there’s nothing you could tell me would make any difference between you and me.”

Seaforth laughed mirthlessly.  “I’m glad of that, but it wasn’t you I was thinking of just then,” he said.  “Still it seems to me that we are both a little off our balance this morning, and may be sorry for it afterwards.”