He sprang up and threw open the door. The fresh Sunday morning air swept in with its fragrance borne from the balm-o'-gileads that stood near his door shaking their shining leaves in the bright sunlight. As he drew himself up and lifted his chest his huge frame almost filled the doorway. With a word to Sal he went out and made his way leisurely towards the roughly-made stable that stood among the willows skirting the ridge. The desire to put his shack into a presentable condition was superseded by a yearning to roam lazily about the place for a while and indulge his fancies for the future. It was a day to be free and forgetful of duties, and after the crowded week he felt the need of a rest. The general clean-up which he promised himself he would give to his shack could wait—as it had waited during long months before he became conscious of any such need. In the meantime he would feed his horse and then stroll down to the town for some provisions.
When he returned to the shack he made himself a breakfast of oatmeal and fried bacon. The meal was frugal but sufficient to supply his needs for the time being, and he decided to postpone his jaunt to town until late in the day. He wanted to take a walk over his land and think over his plans for the coming year.
King had a real affection for the place he had chosen. He had filed his claim long before there was any competition in the field and had secured what he considered a choice location within easy distance of wood and water. The soil was very rich, and the ridge with its clumps of poplars offered an excellent spot for building. From in front of his shack he could see not only The Town, but beyond it to the blue hills rising to the east and extending southward in a half circle forming one rim of the valley. Between these two ranges lay a wide plain spread out under the blue sky, fertile, well watered and pleasantly wooded. It was not the kind of country King had been accustomed to hearing called "a man's land" in the rugged interior of British Columbia, where he had spent eight of the ten years since he had come west. It was quieter—milder—softer, maybe—and of coloring less vivid. And yet it was a man's country, too, a country with a challenge for anyone who cared to hear it.
It was well on in the afternoon when King got back from his tramp over his land. For a few minutes he sat down upon the door-step and rested before starting for The Town to get something to eat. Sal lay down near him, panting lazily in the shade of the poplars. When he was about to go the dog gave a sharp little bark and stood up quickly with her ears pointed in the direction of the ridge-trail leading to town.
King got up and looked down the trail.
Soon there emerged from behind the clump of willows the figure of a man coming towards him. King sat down again and waited. In a few moments he recognized the figure as that of Lush Currie. As the latter approached him King regarded him with a questioning air. There was something in Currie's face that he could not quite understand. He offered to bring out a bench for a seat, but Lush protested quite sincerely and sat down on the grass under the poplars. When Currie had rolled himself a fresh cigarette and lighted it he lifted his eyes to King and looked at him squarely for the first time.
"I'm gettin' out," he said abruptly.
King did not reply at first, but Currie's silence prompted him to ask what he meant.
"Just that," said Currie. "I'm goin' outside to-morrow—an' I'll not be back."
It was no unusual thing for a member of a railway construction gang to pack up his belongings and leave for the outside. King was at a loss to know the exact significance of Currie's announcement.