“Oh, forget it, man.”  Bull spoke sharply.  “There’s things we can take a joy in remembering.  But this isn’t one of ’em.  No.  The thing for us now is work.  Plenty of work.  The mill needs to be in full work inside a week.  We haven’t an hour to lose, with young Birchall coming along over.  Skert’s promised us power in twenty-four hours.  He’s at it right now.  The camps on the river’ll be working full, and making up lost time.  The rest’s up to us right here.  But—­but,” he added, passing a hand nervously across his forehead, “I’ve got to get sleep or I’ll go stark crazy.”

Bat eyed the younger man seriously.  It was the first time he had realised his condition.  His sympathy found the rough expression of a nod.

“You had a hell of a time up there,” he said.

Bull laughed.  There was no mirth in his laugh.

“It was tough all right.  I wonder if you’d guess how tough.”  He shook his head.  “No.  You wouldn’t.  You reckon Father Adam’s a pretty good man, but I tell you right here you don’t know how good, or the thing he did for us single-handed.  I know—­now.  He set me wise to it all, and didn’t leave me a thing to do but make the trail he’d set for me.  It was an easy play dealing with the fool forest-jacks who’d swallowed the Skandinavia’s dope.  Yes.  That was easy,” he added thoughtfully.  “But that was just the start of the game.  Father Adam had located the trail of the outfit the Skandinavia had sent and it was my job to come right up with ’em and silence ’em.”

He broke off and sat staring straight in front of him.  His fine eyes were half smiling for all the weariness he complained of.  He yawned.

“Well, I hit that trail,” he went on presently.  “I hit it, and hung to it like a she-wolf out for offal.  I just never quit.  It was that way I forgot sleep.  It wasn’t till between No. 10 and 11 Camps we got sight.  We were out in the open, up on the high land.  We’d a run of fifty mile ahead of the dogs.  When we got sight that boy Gouter was after ’em like a red-hot devil.  Drive?  Gee, how he drove!”

Again came the man’s mirthless laugh.

“There’s things in life seem mighty queer at times.  It was that way then.  There was a man I wanted to kill once bad.  Guess I’ve never quit wanting to kill him, though I’m glad Father Adam saved me from doing it.  He was Laval—­Arden Laval, one of the Skandinavia’s camp-bosses.  Well, I saw him killed on that trip, and I helped bury him in the snow.  Gouter drew on him on the dead run at fifty yards.  He dropped him cold, and wrecked the outfit the feller was driving.  There were two in the bunch that the Skandinavia sent there to raise trouble for us.  Laval and another.  Laval’s dead, and the other we brought right along as prisoner.  That other’s here in this—­”

A light knock interrupted the story.  Bull turned with a start.  Then he sprang to his feet, every sign of weariness gone.  He stood for a moment as though in doubt.  And the lumberman, watching him, remarked the complete transformation that had taken place.  He was smiling.  His straining eyes had softened to a tenderness the onlooker failed to understand.