The sergeant swore softly and said, “Say, boy, I didn’t think you were that sort.” “What sort?” “Why, religious, you know.” “I am not religious. But ever since I was a little chap I have always felt somehow that God is near me. Don’t you think so, Sergeant?” The sergeant, who was one of the most regular and faithful attendants at Church Parade and most devout in his religious exercises, found himself hard put to it by the sudden demand for a confession of his faith. “Eh? What? Why, of course—why, dash it all, boy, I’m not a blasted atheist.” “I beg your pardon, Sergeant. I knew, of course. But what I mean is, you needn’t worry about me when I see Sleeman. He ought to be killed, but I have got over the notion that it is my particular job to kill him.” “Righto!” said the sergeant heartily. “And the same, you never know. Sleeman is a proper brute. He has injured you terribly, cheated your father too if I’m not mistaken. You never know what he may say or do. Might insult you, say something about your—your people, you know.” “I have thought of that. But I must see him. I must get a statement of his dealings with my father, you see.” “Will you get that?” “Oh, yes,” said Paul with quiet assurance. “How?” “Oh, I know how. You see, I have made Indians talk before now.” Something in the boy’s tone made the sergeant’s flesh creep. “Gad! boy, remember you are not among savages any longer!” he exclaimed. “Yes, but he must tell me, you see,” said Paul in a matter-of-fact tone. “He ought to tell me. And so I will make him. I think he will tell me.” “Good Lord! I believe he will,” said the sergeant. “But for Heaven’s sake go easy.” But Paul refused to make any disclosures as to his methods. The sergeant hastily changed the subject. “Then what, after Sleeman?” “Going to study in Vancouver. I will have three hundred dollars. I can get some work to do, can’t I? McConnell thinks I can’t do it. He wants me to stay with him. They have been awfully good to me, but I can’t stay. I must get away. I’m going to be an engineer and do big things—build railways and bridges, like Daddy, you know.” He paused, looking doubtfully at his friend. But the sergeant only nodded encouragingly. “Sure! fine thing!” he exclaimed as Paul waited. At his words the young man caught fire. He had expected criticisms, objections. The sergeant’s approval released the dreams of years. All the hopes, desires, ambitions, that for the past six years he had cherished, buried and revived again, he now poured forth into the sergeant’s sympathetic ear. “You’ll do, my boy! You will make it go! By Jove, you will!” cried his friend, when Paul, somewhat shamefacedly and apologetically ceased his outpourings. “And remember, whenever you strike a stiff grade you have one man to back you with all he has.”