The storekeeper, who was also a magistrate, grinned good-humouredly.
"It's good enough for the money, anyway," said he. "But what's the
matter with the Tyee dollars, Harry, that you wouldn't do Hallam's
packing?"

Alton glanced at him gravely. "I think not," said he. "Put another
pound or two into her, and I'll pay you on your invoice for the last
lot you sent me. Otherwise I'm going to whittle down that bill
considerably. You see Townshead is too shaky to come down, and he
can't live on nothing."

"And the Lord knows when he'll pay you," said the storekeeper. "It's a
good twelve months since he sent a dollar to me."

Alton laughed a little. "I can wait," he said. "Fill that bag up
again. Get hold of the truck, Charley."

Charles Seaforth, who was apparently younger, and certainly a trifle
more fastidious about his attire than his comrade, shouldered a flour
bag, and twenty minutes later he and Alton tramped out of the
settlement with three loaded beasts splashing and floundering in front
of them. It was almost dark now, though a line of snow still glimmered
white and cold high up beyond the trees until the trail plunged into
the blackness of the forest. Then the lights of the settlement were
blotted out behind them, the hum of voices ceased, and they were alone
in the primeval silence of the bush. The thud and splash of tired
hoofs only served to emphasize it, the thin jingle of steel or creak of
pack-rope was swallowed up and lost, for the great dim forest seemed to
mock at anything man could do to disturb its pristine serenity. It had
shrouded all that valley, where no biting gale ever blew, from the