EVENING IN TOWN 59

“Well, anyway, the first boat should be up inside
two weeks. The river’s ready to go out now. .
Hello, Bill; come in.”

A genial giant came through the doorway,
tripped over a pup and sat down on a box.

“Where’s that knife you made, Bille”

The newcomer drew a skinning-knife from his
belt and handed it over. Its curved blade shone blue
in the light; the handle was exquisitely fashioned
from sheep-horn and riveted with copper. In silence
the knife was passed from hand to hand and re-
turned to its owner. Bill rolled up his shirt-sleeve
and exposed a mighty forearm covered with thick,
dark hair. He took his knife and ran the blade down-
ward from elbow to wrist, and a perfectly smooth
strip of skin marked its passage. He smiled at us
and put the knife away.

But if he was reticent about his work, he was
voluble on matters of philosophy, prospecting and
old Dawson days. On this particular evening his
mind ran to philosophy.

“T’ve seen.a good deal o’ natur’, tramping the hills,
and the more I seen the more I reckoned that there’s
some kind o’ reason behind it all. Now there’s some
chaps as can get the lie of it. Last winter I were
readin’ a book called Outline o’ History, an’ whoever
wrote it sure knows a thing or two. He’d ’a’ made