"Didn't say why, I guess."

"No."

The old New Englander fished from a hip pocket a plug of tobacco, cut
off a liberal chew, and stowed this in his cheek. Then, lounging back
in the chair, he cocked a shrewd eye at his nephew.

"Wonder what he meant."

Tom volunteered no opinion. He recognized his uncle's canny habit of
fishing in other people's minds for confirmation of what was in his
own.

"Got any idee what he was drivin' at?" the old pioneer went on.

"Sorta."

C.N. Morse chuckled. "Got a notion myself. Let's hear yours."

"The trade with the North-West Mounted is gonna be big for a while.
The Force needs all kinds of supplies. It'll have to deal through some
firm in Benton as a clearin' house. He's servin' notice that unless
C.N. Morse & Company mends its ways, it can't do business with the
N.W.M.P."

"That all?" asked the head of the firm.

"That's only half of it. The other half is that no firm of