"But I was a criminal then, part sharer in a murder, lost forever in this world, and lost also in the next. I am a good Catholic; but the priest would have no word with me when he heard I was a Scowrer, and I am excommunicated from my faith. That's how it stands with me. And I see you going down the same road, and I ask you what the end is to be. Are you ready to be a cold-blooded murderer also, or can we do anything to stop it?" "What would you do?" asked McMurdo abruptly. "You would not inform?" "God forbid!" cried Morris. "Sure, the very thought would cost me my life." "That's well," said McMurdo. "I'm thinking that you are a weak man and that you make too much of the matter." "Too much! Wait till you have lived here longer. Look down the valley! See the cloud of a hundred chimneys that overshadows it! I tell you that the cloud of murder hangs thicker and lower than that over the heads of the people. It is the Valley of Fear, the Valley of Death. The terror is in the hearts of the people from the dusk to the dawn. Wait, young man, and you will learn for yourself." "Well, I'll let you know what I think when I have seen more," said McMurdo carelessly. "What is very clear is that you are not the man for the place, and that the sooner you sell out--if you only get a dime a dollar for what the business is worth--the better it will be for you. What you have said is safe with me; but, by Gar! if I thought you were an informer--" "No, no!" cried Morris piteously. "Well, let it rest at that. I'll bear what you have said in mind, and maybe some day I'll come back to it. I expect you meant kindly by speaking to me like this. Now I'll be getting home." "One word before you go," said Morris. "We may have been seen together. They may want to know what we have spoken about." "Ah! that's well thought of." "I offer you a clerkship in my store." "And I refuse it. That's our business. Well, so long, Brother Morris, and may you find things go better with you in the future." That same afternoon, as McMurdo sat smoking, lost in thought beside the stove of his sitting-room, the door swung open and its framework was filled with the huge figure of Boss McGinty. He passed the sign, and then seating himself opposite to the young man he looked at him steadily for some time, a look which was as steadily returned. "I'm not much of a visitor, Brother McMurdo," he said at last. "I guess I am too busy over the folk that visit me. But I thought I'd stretch a point and drop down to see you in your own house." "I'm proud to see you here, Councillor," McMurdo answered heartily, bringing his whisky bottle out of the cupboard. "It's an honour that I had not expected." "How's the arm?" asked the Boss. McMurdo made a wry face. "Well, I'm not forgetting it," he said; "but it's worth it."