He longed for human companionship, for some kind of mental exhilaration beyond that furnished by his own thoughts.

Feeling in his pocket for a cigar he seated himself before one of the windows and proffered it to the factor from Lac Bain.
"You smoke ?" he asked companionably.
"I was born in a wigwam," said the factor slowly, taking the cigar.
"Thank you." "Deuced polite for a man who hasn't seen civilization for three years," thought Howland, seating himself comfortably, with his feet on the window-sill.

Aloud he said, "The clerk tells me you are from Lac Bain.
That's a good distance north, isn't it ?" "Four hundred miles," replied the factor with quiet terseness.

"We're on the edge of the Barren Lands." "Whew!" Howland shrugged his shoulders.

Then he volunteered, "I'm going north myself to-morrow." "Post man ?" "No; engineer.