“I mean up to Fort McMurray, where they’ll put a man in jail if they find a drink of whisky on his person.”
Mr. Zept sat upright and darted a look at his old friend.
“That’s right,” went on Colonel Howell. “When you leave Athabasca Landing, the fellow who tells you good-bye is a mounted policeman, and he doesn’t shake hands with you either. If you’ve got a drop of whisky with you, you’ve got to have it inside of you. If you try to take whisky into that country, you’ve got to be smarter than the smartest policemen in the world. The ‘opportunity’ is gone. And there’s another thing,” went on the aroused colonel. “If your boy thinks he’s been robbed of something, when he finds he hasn’t anything to drink, you can see yourself that he’ll have plenty of other things to interest him.”
The agitated ranchman sprang to his feet and took a quick turn around the room.
“Howell!” he exclaimed at last, as he returned and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “this upsets every plan I have.”
“Maybe they ought to be upset,” rejoined the oil man.
“You’re right,” answered his friend thickly. “It’s all pretty sudden and it’s all a kind of a blow to me, but you’re right. What can I do?”
“Easy enough,” responded the other as he relit his cigar; “he wants to go with me. Let him have his way. I’ve never been called upon to attempt anything in the reform line and I don’t think I will be now. Let your son join us and I think that’ll be the end of what is causing you a good deal of misery. It isn’t a case of curing him of the whisky habit. I believe he’ll simply forget it.”
“Will you take him?” suddenly asked Mr. Zept, his face a little white.
“Sure!” exclaimed Colonel Howell. “Call it settled and get this terrible fear off your mind. Paul’s all right and I’ll bet when you see him again he’ll give an account of himself that’ll make you proud.”