“Kowterski—one of Moran’s Polacks,” said Steve, with bitterness in his voice. “Them cattle is drivin’ good woodsmen out of the State. Moran’s fetchin’ ’em in ’cause he kin drive ’em and abuse ’em and rob ’em. There was a day when a lumberjack come out of the woods after the drive with his pockets burnin’ with money. These fellers is lucky if they come out even. I knowed one that come out last spring with fifteen dollars to show for his winter’s work. Sometimes Moran gives ’em half a dollar on Sundays—for church!” He stopped suddenly. “Kowterski’s brother’s night-watchin’ for you,” he said, shortly. “Thank you,” said Jim. “Now let’s go back.” “Better eat a bite,” Steve said, and, taking Jim’s assent for granted, led the way to the spring. It was an hour before he consented to begin the backward tramp. It was completed as silently as had been the coming. Steve led Jim past his shanty, but not in sight of it, and to the road where the buggy stood. “Wait,” he said, and shortly reappeared, leading the horse, which he helped Jim to hitch. Jim climbed to the seat and extended his hand. Steve made no movement to take it. “I’m more obliged to you than I can say,” Jim said. “G’-by,” Steve said, briefly, and, turning his back, strode out of sight among the scrub-oak and jack-pine. The horse Jim drove was not intended by nature to travel rapidly from place to place. He possessed two paces, one a studious walk, the other a self-satisfied trot that was a negligible acceleration of movement. So it was dusk when Jim reached Diversity. Slow as the progress was, it did not give Jim time to cool down from the boiling-point he had reached; instead, it irritated him, brought him where explosion was inevitable. He returned his horse to the barn and started down the street toward the mill, forgetful that he had eaten nothing but Steve’s snack since breakfast. As he passed the hotel he saw Moran on the piazza—Moran, who had taken a train yesterday to the city. Jim stopped, gripped his temper with both hands, as it were, to hold it in check, and spoke. “You’re back soon,” he said. “Didn’t get to the city at all. Wire met me halfway and called me back.” “That’s good,” said Jim, with another of his sudden resolutions. “I’m glad you’re here. Can you walk down to the mill with me? I want to show you something.” “Glad to,” said Moran, rising. The older man attempted casual talk as they went along, but Jim’s answers were monosyllabic, even brusk. Moran studied the young man’s face out of the corner of his eye, wondering what was in the wind. He was puzzled, uneasy, and he ceased his conversation and speculated on possibilities. Jim led him round to the rear of the mill. At the fire-room door he paused and called, “Kowterski!” Presently a bulky figure emerged from the gloom that was beyond the doorway. The man was big, with a clumsy bigness, not so tall as Jim, but heavier by fifty pounds. He came forward slowly. “Here,” said Jim. “Come here.”