money and a dude isn’t worth forty cents a week.”
Stanley did not reply; he was humbled. For the first time he realized how utterly unlikely he was to fit in with this environment. Even French Louey was of more value than he. And as he pondered on this bitter truth his heart sank and a feeling of homesickness flooded his soul and the tears trembled in his eyes.
But Bub saw his emotion and his generous spirit urged him to find some diversion, something to distract his companion’s thoughts. Nearby, leaning against a pile of fresh spruce bolts, was a swarthy complexioned man, whose hair grew coarse, black and long. It was Big Nick, the half-breed, who had lost his license as a guide for poaching. He had been discovered trapping beaver out of season and for this summer at least he could not hire out to any party at three dollars a day. He had blamed the lumber company, believing Hatton had set the game wardens on his trail. He had come down to the settlement to interview the manager and ask him to have the license restored; for Hatton was a power in that section and the half-breed believed he had ample power to reverse the action of the officials. Hatton had
