He said:  ‘We must find a man!’ He said:  ’You—­you whose mission it is to roam the length and breadth of these forests—­you may find such a man.  If you do—­when you do—­if it’s years hence—­send him along here, and there’s ten million dollars waiting for him, and all this great mill, and these timber limits inexhaustible waiting for him to go right ahead.  It doesn’t matter a thing who he is, or what he is, or where he comes from, so long as he gets this idea—­sticks to it faithfully—­and puts it through.  I want nothing out of it for myself.  And the day he succeeds in the great idea all that would have been mine shall be his.’”

As Father Adam finished, he looked into the earnest, wonder-filled eyes of the other.

“Well?” he demanded.

Bull cleared his throat.

“The mill?  Where is it?” He demanded.

“Sachigo.  Farewell Cove.”

“Sachigo!  Why it’s—­”

“The greatest groundwood mill in the world.”

There was a note of pride and triumph in the missionary’s tone.  But it passed unheeded.  Bull was struggling with recollection.

“This man?  Wasn’t it Leslie Standing who built it?  Didn’t it break him or something?  That’s the story going round.  There was something—­”

Father Adam shook his head.

“There’s ten million dollars says it didn’t.  Ten millions you can handle yourself.”

“Gee!”

Bull drew a sharp breath.  Strong, forceful as he was the figure was overwhelming.

“This—­all this you’re saying—­offering?  It’s all real, true?” Bull demanded at last.

“All of it.”

“You want me to go and take possession of Sachigo, and ten—­Say, where’s the catch?”

“There’s no ’catch’—­anywhere.”

The denial was cold.  It was almost in the tone of affronted dignity.  The missionary had thrust his hand in a pocket.  Now he produced a large, sealed envelope.  Bull’s eyes watched the movement, but bewilderment was still apparent in them.  Suddenly he raised a bandaged hand, and smoothed back his hair.

Father Adam held out the sealed letter.  It was addressed to “Bat Harker,” at Sachigo Mill.

“Here,” he said quietly.  “You’re the man with iron guts Leslie Standing wants for his purpose.  Take this.  Go right off to Sachigo and take charge of the greatest enterprise in the world’s paper industry.  You’re looking to make good.  It’s your set purpose to make good in the groundwood industry.  Opportunities don’t come twice in a lifetime.  If you’ve the iron courage I believe, you’ll grab this chance.  You’ll grab it right away.  Will you?  Can you do it?  Have you the nerve?”

There was a taunt in the challenge.  It was calculated.  There was something else.  The missionary’s dark eyes were almost pleading.

Bull seized the letter.  He almost snatched it.

“Will I do it?  Can I do it?  Have I the nerve?” he cried, in a tone of fierce exulting.  “If there’s a feller crazy enough to hand me ten million dollars and trust me with a job—­if it was as big as a war between nations—­I’d never squeal.  Can I?  Will I?  Sure I will.  And time’ll answer the other for you.  Iron guts, eh!  I tell you in this thing they’re chilled steel.”