“I’m feeling pretty good, thank you, Reivers,” said Toppy quietly, though the voice of the man had thrilled him with the challenge in it. He turned his head slowly and looked up from his chair at Reivers with an expression of great serenity. The Big Game had begun between them, and Toppy was an expert at keeping his play hidden. “Much obliged for strapping up my ankle, Reivers,” he said. “Silly thing, to sprain an ankle; but thanks to your expert bandaging it’ll be ready to walk on soon.” “It wasn’t a bad sprain,” said Reivers, moving up and standing in front of him. That was Reivers all through. Toppy was sitting; Reivers was standing, looking down on him, his favourite pose. The black anger boiled in Toppy’s heart, but by his expression one could read only that he was a grateful young man. “No, it wasn’t a bad sprain,” continued Reivers, his upper lip lifting in its customary smile of scorn, “but—a man who attempts such heavy lifts must have no weak spot in him.” Toppy twisted himself into a more comfortable position in his chair and smiled. “‘Attempts’ is hardly the right word there, Reivers. Pardon me for differing with you,” he laughed. “You may remember that the attempt was a success.” A glint of amusement in Reivers’ cold eyes showed that he appreciated that something more weighty than a mere question of words lay beneath that apparently casual remark. For an instant his eyes narrowed, as if trying to see beyond Toppy’s smile and read what lay behind, but Toppy’s good poker-face now stood him in good stead, and he looked blandly back at Reivers’ peering eyes and continued to smile. Reivers laughed. “Quite right, Treplin; obliged to you for correcting me,” he said. “A chap gets rusty out here, where none of the laws of speech are observed. I’ll depend upon you to bring me back to form again—later on. Is your ankle really feeling strong?” For answer Toppy rose and stood on it. “Well, well!” laughed Reivers. “Then Miss Pearson’s sympathy was all wasted. What’s the matter, Treplin? Aren’t you glad to hear that charming young lady is enough interested in you to hunt me up and ask me to step in and see how you are this morning?” “Not particularly,” replied Toppy, although he was forced to admit to himself a glow at this explanation of the girl’s conversation with Reivers. “What are you interested in?” said Reivers suddenly. Toppy looked up at him shrewdly. “I tell you what I’d like to do, Reivers; I’d like to learn the logging-business—learn how to run a camp like this—run it efficiently, I mean.” “Worthy ambition,” came the instant reply, “and you’ve come to the right school. How fortunate for you that you fell into this camp! You might have got into one where the boss had foolish ideas. You might even have fallen in with a humanitarian. Then you’d never have learned how to make men do things for you, and consequently you’d never have learned to run a camp efficiently.