make things darn unpleasant for you. You've a goodish nerve, and maybe
you've goodish sense. You'll need 'em both for the next twelve months.
After that it's up to you. But if you try kicking between now and then,
why--God help you."

Standing beckoned Bat from his seat at the window. He held up the door
key.

"You best take this," he said. "No. 10. And he starts out right away. He
needs to be well on the road before the _Lizzie_ puts to sea."

Bat took the key. He moved away and unlocked the door, and remained
beside it grimly regarding the man who had listened without comment to
the sentence passed on him, without the smallest display of emotion.
Idepski was smoking his second cigarette.

"No. 10. I s'pose that's one of your lumber camps." Idepski looked up
from his contemplation of the cigarette. His dark eyes were levelled at
the man across the writing table. "A tough place, eh? or you wouldn't be
sending me there." He laughed in a fashion that left his eyes coldly
enquiring.

Standing inclined his head. He was without mercy, without pity.

"It's a tough camp in a tough country," he said deliberately. "It's a
camp where you'll get just as good a time as you choose to earn. The boy
who runs it learnt his job in the forests of Quebec, and you'll likely
understand what that means. Well, you're going right off now. But
there's this I want to tell you before I see the last of you--for a
year. I know you, Idepski. I know you for all you are, and all you're