“John Gaviller would never let himself off any of the duties of hospitality,” said Ambrose cautiously.

He was wondering how far Strange might be admitted to Gaviller’s confidence.  That he was being drawn out, Ambrose had no doubt at all, but he did not know just to what end.

Strange launched into extensive praises of John Gaviller.  “I ought to know,” he said in conclusion.  “I’ve worked for him twenty-nine years.  He taught me all I know.  He’s been a second father to me.”

Ambrose felt as an honest man hearing an unnecessary and fulsome panegyric must feel, slightly nauseated.  He said nothing.

Strange was quick to perceive the absence of enthusiasm.  He laughed agreeably.  “I suppose I can hardly expect you to chime in with me,” he said.  “The old man is death on free-traders!”

“I have nothing against him,” said Ambrose quickly.

“Of course I don’t always agree with him on matters of policy,” Strange went on.  “Curious, isn’t it, how a man’s ruling characteristic begins to get the better of him as he grows old.

“Mr. Gaviller is always just—­but, well, a leetle hard.  He’s pushing the people a little too far lately.  I tell him so to his face—­I oppose him all I can.  But of course he’s the boss.”

Ambrose began to feel an obscure and discomforting indignation at his visitor.  He wished he would go.

“You really must see our plant before you go back,” said Strange; “the model farm, the dairy herd, the flourmill, the sawmill.  Will you come up to-morrow and let me take you about?”

His glibness had the effect of rendering Ambrose monosyllabic.  “No,” he said.

“Oh, I say,” said Strange, laughing, “what did you come to Fort Enterprise for if you feel that way about us?”

Under his careless air Ambrose thought he distinguished a certain eagerness to hear the answer.  So he said nothing.

“I’m afraid you and the old gentleman must have had words,” Strange went on, still smiling.  “Take it from me, his bark is worse than his bite.  If he broke out at you, he’s sorry for it now.  It takes half my time to fix up his little differences with the people here.”

He paused to give the other an opportunity to speak.  Ambrose remained mum.

“The old man certainly has a rough side to his tongue,” murmured Strange insinuatingly.

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” said Ambrose coolly.  “John Gaviller gave me no cause for offense.  I was well entertained at his house.”

“U-m!” said Strange.  He seemed rather at a loss.  Presently he went on to tell in a careless voice of the coyote hunts they had.  Afterward he casually inquired how long Ambrose meant to stay in the neighborhood.

“I don’t know,” was the blunt answer.

“Well, really!” said Strange with his laugh—­the sound of it was becoming highly exasperating to Ambrose.  “I don’t want to pry into your affairs, but you must admit it looks queer for you to be camping here on the edge of the company reservation without ever coming in.”