Through the after years the old man had sought always to do two things: to return to the Eastern Mines the money which he had taken from the company; to find his son.
That was his story.
He lifted his eyes when it was done, studying anxiously his son's face.
"I have sinned against the laws of man," he said simply. "I have tried, Davie, not to sin against the laws of God."
Therein lay his only defence.
"Dad," whispered the son, his voice breaking now, the tears standing at last in his eyes as they had stood in Max's; "it is I who have sinned, being a man of little faith! Do you know how I worshipped you when I was a boy? Do you know how I love you now?"
He bent forward swiftly and … he was the impulsive, warm-hearted boy again … kissed his father. And a tear, falling, ran in the same course with a tear from the old man's eye. One a tear of heartbreaking sadness; one a tear of heartbreaking gladness.
"You will tell Max?" asked Marshall Sothern. "Poor old Max. And now … let them come in. I have lived so much alone … I want to die among my friends."
They stood, heads bared, faces drawn, about the figure which had again slipped down upon the bear skin. Max knelt and took the lax hand and kissed it.
"You are the greatest man in the world," he said incoherently. "Do you think I am ungrateful? Do you think I'd remember a thing like my sworn duty and forget all you've done for me, all …"