Dick Kent, Fur Trader

Dick Kent, bronzed by exposure to wind and sun, leaned over the rough pine table in the trading room of Factor MacClaren at Fort Good Faith and listened intently to the conversation being carried on at that particular moment between Murky Nichols, prospector and gentleman of parts, and Corporal Rand of the Mackenzie River detachment of the Royal North West Mounted Police. On the paper in front of them, torn from a convenient packing case, were a number of irregular lines, dots and scrawls, which had been placed there with the aid of the stub of a lead pencil, held awkwardly in the hands of the big prospector. "I want to show yuh," Nichols explained eagerly, "jus' where I think ol' Daddy McInnes crossed the Dominion Range. He travelled east an' then south until he got to Placer Lake, goin' through what the Indians call Blind Man's Pass. There ain't no other way he could o' got through, sick an' worn out like he was. That pass must come out on this side of the range somewhere near where yuh picked up his body." Corporal Rand drummed softly on the table and regarded Murky's animated face with thoughtful interest.