Hammond was for the moment lost for an answer. This high-salaried offer, though it distinctly appealed to his adventuring spirit, took him off his feet and the concealed object of his mission at the pulpwood limits made him hesitate.
“I am not expected to spy on any one?” he insisted.
“I have assured you there will be nothing underhand about it,” Gildersleeve reminded him.
“There is, however, a possibility I might not succeed in securing a position with the contracting company.”
“There is such a possibility—a remote one, but the way will be made easy for you. At Kam City you will make personal application to Hon. J. J. Slack, M.P., president of the North Star Towing and Contracting Company, presenting to him a letter of introduction I will furnish you with.”
The train slowed down to a grinding stop at a small flag station. It was but a moment till it was in motion again.
“I’ll take it,” decided Hammond.
Before Gildersleeve could reply there came a light, insistent tapping at the door of the stateroom. A coloured porter entered, bearing a sealed envelope, passed it to Gildersleeve with a flash of very white teeth and retired.
Gildersleeve ripped the message from the envelope, glanced at its contents and pushed the button at his elbow. “Porter,” he requested when the latter re-appeared, “how long does the train stop at Moose Horn Station?”
“Twenty minutes, sah. We take on watah there, sah.”