By the time the _Athenian_ arrived in Seattle, Churchill had fully recuperated, and he went ashore with Bondell’s grip in his hand. He felt proud of that grip. To him it stood for achievement and integrity and trust. “I’ve delivered the goods,” was the way he expressed these various high terms to himself. It was early in the evening, and he went straight to Bondell’s home. Louis Bondell was glad to see him, shaking hands with both hands at the same time and dragging him into the house. “Oh, thanks, old man; it was good of you to bring it out,” Bondell said when he received the gripsack. He tossed it carelessly upon a couch, and Churchill noted with an appreciative eye the rebound of its weight from the springs. Bondell was volleying him with questions. “How did you make out? How’re the boys? What became of Bill Smithers? Is Del Bishop still with Pierce? Did he sell my dogs? How did Sulphur Bottom show up? You’re looking fine. What steamer did you come out on?” To all of which Churchill gave answer, till half an hour had gone by and the first lull in the conversation had arrived. “Hadn’t you better take a look at it?” he suggested, nodding his head at the gripsack. “Oh, it’s all right,” Bondell answered. “Did Mitchell’s dump turn out as much as he expected?” “I think you’d better look at it,” Churchill insisted. “When I deliver a thing, I want to be satisfied that it’s all right. There’s always the chance that somebody might have got into it when I was asleep, or something.” “It’s nothing important, old man,” Bondell answered, with a laugh. “Nothing important,” Churchill echoed in a faint, small voice. Then he spoke with decision: “Louis, what’s in that bag? I want to know.” Louis looked at him curiously, then left the room and returned with a bunch of keys. He inserted his hand and drew out a heavy Colt’s revolver. Next came out a few boxes of ammunition for the revolver and several boxes of Winchester cartridges. Churchill took the gripsack and looked into it. Then he turned it upside down and shook it gently. “The gun’s all rusted,” Bondell said. “Must have been out in the rain.” “Yes,” Churchill answered. “Too bad it got wet. I guess I was a bit careless.” He got up and went outside. Ten minutes later Louis Bondell went out and found him on the steps, sitting down, elbows on knees and chin on hands, gazing steadfastly out into the darkness. TO BUILD A FIRE