Alton’s eyelids came down a little, and the stranger seemed to find his glance disconcerting.  “You don’t seem to understand.  I promised the other man to bring up his things,” he said.

“Well,” said Hallam, “come along into the shanty yonder, and have a drink with me.  We may fix up some way of getting over the difficulty.”

“Sorry!” said Alton with a suspicious quietness.  “I don’t drink much, anyway, and then only with the boys who know me.”

“Hey!” said Hallam.  “You are talking like a condemned Englishman.”

“I can’t help that,” said Alton.  “I am a Canadian, but if you want another reason, it wouldn’t suit me to drink with you, anyway.  You see, you didn’t do the square thing with one or two friends of mine who worked on the Tyee.”

He turned on his heel, and Hallam, who was a man of some importance in the cities, gasped with astonishment and indignation.

“What is that fellow?” he said.

The man laughed, and answered him in the bushman’s slowest drawl.  “You don’t know much, or you wouldn’t ask,” said he.  “He’s Alton of Somasco, but if he lives long enough he will be one of the biggest men in this country.”

Hallam said nothing, but there was a curious look in his face which puzzled the rancher.  It suggested that he had heard of Alton, and something more.

Meanwhile Alton entered the store, where the man who kept it pointed to a litter of packages strewn about the floor and sundry bags upon the counter.

“That’s Townshead’s lot, and those are Thomson’s things,” he said, and turned aside to listen to a rancher who came in smiling.

Alton took up a big cotton bag marked Townshead, tossed it aloft and caught it, and then shook his head dubiously.  “That’s rather too light for ten pounds.  You want to try her on the scales again,” he said.

The storekeeper, who was also a magistrate, grinned good-humouredly.  “It’s good enough for the money, anyway,” said he.  “But what’s the matter with the Tyee dollars, Harry, that you wouldn’t do Hallam’s packing?”

Alton glanced at him gravely.  “I think not,” said he.  “Put another pound or two into her, and I’ll pay you on your invoice for the last lot you sent me.  Otherwise I’m going to whittle down that bill considerably.  You see Townshead is too shaky to come down, and he can’t live on nothing.”

“And the Lord knows when he’ll pay you,” said the storekeeper.  “It’s a good twelve months since he sent a dollar to me.”

Alton laughed a little.  “I can wait,” he said.  “Fill that bag up again.  Get hold of the truck, Charley.”