THE NEW-COMER 5 



like Boarding House of Big River. I had 

 finished the evening meal a hungry man's full 

 fare of pork and beans and potatoes, accom- 

 panied by the inevitable thick-rimmed mug of 

 hot tea and looked round me with the air of 

 one who is satisfied and who has accomplished 

 the final task of a long, pleasurable day. I 

 knew, in hail-fellow-well-met fashion, all but one 

 of the half-dozen others at the table. There 

 were the Engineer and the Conductor, who had 

 come in, an hour ago, on the evening train 

 Minnesota Joe, a self-famed, talkative trapper 

 from the States and Pete Deschambault and 

 Louis Breau, two French-Canadian lumber-jacks. 



But who was the new-comer ? That was what 

 I pondered with a half-hope that he might be 

 an experienced canoe-man such as I wanted to 

 hire for a long journey. He was of middle age 

 and uncommunicative, this stranger who sat 

 among them ; he ate his evening meal pre- 

 occupied, and silently. Undoubtedly he came 

 from the quiet places and from the hard trail. 

 Was not his face furrowed and worn with ex- 

 posure, was not his hair rough and untended 

 and ate he not wolfishly, as a man who always 

 knows great hunger ? 



When the new-comer and the two lumber-jacks 

 had risen from their meal and left the Boarding 

 House, I addressed the Train-Conductor. 



" Seen new-comer before, Neal ? " 



" Ya, stranger. Name, Joe Ryan. He's just 

 in. Been trapping or lumbering all winter." 



"He's a talkative cuss, Neal; meditates as if 

 he were planning next winter's trap line." 



