“I’m not fitted for it,” Thompson returned.  “I’ve been through hell for four months, and I’ve lost something—­some of that sublime faith that a man must have.  I’m not certain about a lot of things I have always taken for granted.  I’m not certain I have an immortal soul which is worth saving, let alone considering myself peculiarly fitted to save other people’s souls.  I’d be like a blind man leading people with good eyes.  It has come to seem to me that I’ve been trained for the ministry as a carpenter is trained for his trade.  I can’t go on feeling like that.  I’m too much interested in my own personal salvation.  I’m too keenly conscious of a tremendous ignorance about tremendously important things to continue setting myself up as a finger post for other men’s spiritual guidance.  If I stay with the church now it seems to me it will only be because I lack courage to get out and make my living along lines that won’t be so easy.  I’d despise myself if I did that.  So I’ve resigned—­quite a while ago, to be exact.  I’ve been working for the H.B. two months.  That’s why I asked about the trapping.  I’ve been casting about for what I’d best try next.”

Tommy sat silent.  When he did speak he touched very briefly on Thompson’s confession of faith—­or rather the lack of it.

“When a man’s heart isn’t in a thing,” said he, “it’s better for him to drop it.  About the trapping, now—­I don’t think you’d do much at that with the season so far along.  This district is pretty well covered by the natives.  You’d get into difficulties right off the bat over setting traps on their territory.  They have a rude sort of understanding about where their several trap lines shall run.  And for some reason or other furs are getting scarce.  Up where young Lachlan and I were it was pretty fair for awhile.  We took some good skins.  Lately we did a lot of trap-tending for nothing much.  I got fed up with it.  Fact is, I’m about fed up with this region.  I think I’ll pull out.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Thompson observed.  “There isn’t much here for a man.”

“Not now,” Tommy amended.  “I’d have been gone long ago only for Sophie Carr.  That was the magnet that held me.  It happens that I’ve come to something of your pass, right now.  I can’t afford to loaf any longer, living off the wilderness.  I had a bit of an income to keep me in loose change when I wanted a taste of towns.  But that’s been chopped off—­probably for good.  I’m strictly on my own henceforth.  Every penny I spend will first have to be earned.  And so,” he hesitated briefly, “I’ve considered a move to the Coast, the Pacific, y’know.  Going over the continental divide while the snow makes a dog team useful.  Then I’d go down the western streams by boat—­dugout canoe or bateaux, or whatever simple craft a man could make himself in the woods.  Probably be the last big trip I’ll get a chance at.  I’ll have roughed it clear across North America then, and I rather fancy winding up that way.  But it’s a big undertaking single-handed.  I’m not so partial to an Indian for company; besides the fact that I’d have to pay him wages and dollars count with me now.  A fellow likes some one he can talk to.  If you’ve cut the cloth and are at loose ends, why not come along?”