"That is a good name," he said gravely. "In the land of the white man men are called by the name of their fathers. In the woods it is not often so, except when it be written upon papers. The best man in the North is one of whom men know only his first name. He is M's'u' Bill--The-Man-Who-Cannot-Die." "Why can't he die?" asked the youngster eagerly. Jacques shook his head. "Wa-ha-ta-na-ta says 'all men die,'" he replied; "but--did not the _chechako_ come into the North in the time of a great snow, and without rackets mush forty miles in two days? Did he not kill with a knife Diablesse, the werwolf, whom all men feared, and with an axe chop in pieces the wolves of her pack? "Did he not strike fear to the heart of the great Moncrossen with a look of his eye? And, with three blows of his fist, lay the mighty Stromberg upon the floor like a wet rag? Did he not come without hurt through the fire when Creed locked him in the burning shack? And did he not go down through the terrible Blood River rapids, riding upon a log, and live, when Moncrossen ordered the breaking out of the jam that he might be killed among the pounding logs? These are the things that kill men--yet the _chechako_ lives." "Gee, Eth, think of that!" exclaimed the boy, turning toward his sister, who from her place by the side of her Aunt Margaret had been an interested listener. "He must be _some man_! Where does he live? Will we see him?" Before the half-breed could reply Appleton broke in. "He sure is _some man_!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "And you will see him about day after to-morrow night, if we have good luck. I don't know about all the adventures Blood River Jack mentioned, but I have heard of some of them, and I can add the story of the outwitting of a couple of card-sharps and a fight in the dark, in the cramped quarters of an overturned railway coach, in which he all but choked the life out of a human fiend who was robbing the dead and injured. "And I might tell of another fight--the gamest fight of all--but, wait till you know him. He is foreman of the camp which will be our headquarters for the next two or three weeks." "To hear them talk," said Mrs. Appleton to her niece, "one would imagine this man a huge, bloodthirsty ruffian; but he isn't. Hubert says that he is in every respect a gentleman." "Yes," agreed her husband, "but one who is not afraid to get out and work with his two hands--and work hard--and who has never learned the meaning of fear. I took a chance on him, and he has made good." The phrase fell upon the ears of the girl with a shock. They were the words _he_ had used, she remembered. Was _he_ making good--somewhere? She felt her heart go out with a rush to this big man she had never seen, and she found herself eagerly looking forward to their meeting. "Oh, he must be splendid!" she exclaimed impulsively, and her face glowed in the play of the firelight--a glow that faded almost to pallor at the words of the half-breed.