"It's that fool Benson--Clarke's Englishman," Gardner explained.
"Found he'd got into my bed with his boots on, after falling down in a
muskeg. It's not the first time he's played that trick; when he gets
worse than usual he makes straight for my room."

"Why do you give him the liquor?" Harding inquired.

"I don't. He's a pretty regular customer, but he never gets too much
at this hotel."

"And there isn't another."

"That's so," Gardner assented, but he offered no explanation and Blake
changed the subject.

"Unless you're fond of farming, life in these remote districts is
trying," he remarked. "The loneliness and monotony are apt to break
down men who are not used to it."

"Turns some of them crazy and kills off a few," said a farmer, who
appeared to be well educated. "After all, worse things might happen to
them."

"It's conceivable," agreed Blake. "But what particular things were you
referring to?"

"I was thinking of men who go to the devil while they're alive.
There's a fellow in this neighborhood who's doing something of the
kind."