“You’ve got me beat, Les,” he growled.  Then he spat in his disgust.

The missionary nodded, and, with a gesture of the hand, he indicated the hidden mills below them.

“It’s queer the way the whole thing’s completed itself as I hoped and dreamed so long ago,” he said thoughtfully.  “You know, Bat, that yellow streak in me was a better thing than either of us knew.  If I hadn’t had it I’d have stood my ground.  I’d have fought to the end, and I’d have been beaten, and Sachigo would have crashed.  Do you see that?  No.  That’s because you look at things with the obstinate eyes of great courage.  While I, through fear, see things as they are.  We won’t debate it now.  The accomplished fact is the thing.  You’ve set Sachigo on top.  Sachigo will rule the Canadian forest industry.  The foreigner is on the scrap heap.  We’ve helped to build something for this great old Empire of ours, and so our lives haven’t been wholly wasted.  It’s good to feel that when the time comes to pay our debts.  That boy Sternford’s a great feller.  I’m glad about him.  Say, I felt I could cry last night when he and Nancy came along like two school-kids to tell me of the thing they’d fixed.  I felt like handing them my story and claiming my place as Nancy’s stepfather.  But I didn’t.  You see, she’s glad about me as Father Adam, a dopey missionary.  But I can see her eyes blaze up red-hot with anger at the man who took her mother from her, and denied her existence.  No, it’s best that way.  She’s found the man I could have chosen for her, and I’m glad.  She’s a great lass.  She’s all her mother—­and more.”

Bat inclined his stubborn head.  He was still thinking of the dogs, and the sled, and all they meant to him just now.

“Does she know about her share in the mills?” he asked brusquely.

The other shook his head.

“Not yet.  But I’ve sent word to Charlie Nisson.  He’ll be along up on the Myra.  And when he comes she’ll know.”  He laughed quietly.  “Say, I’d be glad to see them when they know about it—­she and Bull.  They’re going to be married right after Birchall’s been along and finally fixed things.  It’ll be a great day.  I wonder.  You know, Bat, I’d like to think Nancy—­my Nancy—­knows all about this.  I wonder if she does.  Do you think so?”

Bat turned away.  His eyes were on the surrounding forest, and the white gossamer of the hoar-frost clinging to the dark foliage.  He dared not trust himself to reply.

Again came the missionary’s quiet laugh.

“I wonder,” he said.  Then, in a moment, a curious flicker marred the calm of his eyes.  “Bat, old friend,” he went on, after a pause, “there’s just one thing I’m going to ask you before I pull out.  It’s a promise I want.  When the time comes for me to pay, will you tell her?  Will you tell them both?  If I’m gone will you tell them the thing you know—­all of it?  Don’t make me out to be any old angel I guess you’d like to paint me.  Just hand ’em the story of the white-livered creature I am, without the nerve of a jack-rabbit.  Will you do that?”