fi£h. MCWL m
SYNOPSIS: Ellen Mackay, on her
way from school at Winnipeg, to join
her father at Fort Edson, misses the
boat by which she was to travel.
Hearing that another boat was to
start north in the morning, Ellen
gues to the owner, John Benham, and
begs him to give her a passage. To
her surprise he flatly refuses.
Angry and puzzled, Ellen tells Pat
MeCiatohney, a kindly old storekeep
er of h er difficulty, and Pat with the
help of one of Benham's crew, suc
ceeds in getting Ellen on board as a
stowaway.
When the vessel is well under way
t'lien emerges from her hiding place
and faces John Benham, who now
cannot help taking her w ith him.
Twice had her father called him a
‘Squaw’s whelp”—a “half-breed
and somehow this thought was like
a dagger thrust in Ellen’s heart. I
seemed beyond all reason that such
a thing could be so, for John Ben
ham’s eyes were blue and clear and
bis hair was richly brown. Yet . . •
She thought of her father, broken
and dLcouraged, and by his own
words brought to such a “tateJ^
-h, evil machinations of this—this
‘ half-breed." And now Ellen had
taken her stand by h(* :£at^tfe ^ht
His battle was to be her battle, his
Vie was her hate.
‘ It was long before she finally slept
and when she did so there was the
moistness of tears upon her cheeks.
Mackav ' learned1'the reaso'n^foir^her
thy^Xs^she^c^^studied^i
destroyed Her thoughts were driven
The shelves of the storehouse were
r ied high With trade goods that had
Sot been moved for over three yeat^
U,vas simple to see the season when
the decline had started. Tnree J
a ElienVprobed further. Three years
before had been the peak of the sex
en-veat- cvcle of the rabbits and all
old' records showed tnat when
rabbit tide was at its he-0ht.
%vas the rich year in returns on lyn. .
Yet the lvnx tally three years ago
"Eilir^rtoXlur store room
ed the fues disclosed. They were al
tar below par, not a prime skin in
.th^hppS 'trembled and tears came
, -ain to her eyes. How deep the
Sa^ie of it must cut her father, for
tn Hte past Fort Edson had been the
boast ofthe company. From there
hart come the richest returns, the
fmest tos. Rich in the pride ot
achievement, Angus Mackay had
(doFed in the reputation of his post.
Ind now he must drink the bitterest
^Ellen went to the door of the uade
r oom and looked out upon the open
ground which surrounded the post
bui'dings. A few Indians were there
■a very few. And she could rememb
er when, at this time of the year,
there would he hundreds. And what
were camped there were of the poor
est Dog-ribs and Yellow-knives and
Hayeiver Indians, notoriously poor
and unthrifty. Their tepees were
ragged and filthy; their families
plainly undernourished; their dogs
mere perambulating skeletons. And
in-1 scanty furs they brought in for
trade would, in the older, better years
■hardly have been considered.
An overpowering discouragement
flooded Ellen, particularly harsh be
cause 6he was at a loss to understand
this terrible decline.
John Benham was the cause, her
father claimed; John Benham who,
by nefarious free trading methods,
had enticed the Indians from him,
who had gleaned the richest and
best furs and left to him only the
tagged remnants.
Ellen wondered if such a thing
were reasonable that one lone man
could move into a territory ana
three short years overthrow the re
putation and prestige of such a post
as Fort Edson. She voiced this
-wonder to her father just once, and
his answering spasm of rage left her
.trembling and disheartened.
\ngus Mackay hated all free trad
ers Violently and unswervingly. All
hie life 1 ad been spent in the em
ploy of the Hudson Bay Company.
He was of the old school who
though he knew full well that the
Hudson Bay Company had parted
wUh its old franchise in 1870 thought
in his blind fervour and lawfulness,
that any (free trader was still a tres
passer a despoiler, and a schemer
against the interests of the mother
C °Therey were many others like him,
scattered about in the numerous
f07t3 of the north—stern, uncom
promising men who had grown oW
in the service, and to ybom
Hudson Bav Company was both UK
and -eli'gion. There was somethin^
"piling in this blind ^ and
support, yet there was something
tragic also. These men, men like
Vu^us Mackay, were hurling then
frail old bodies against the ponder
<us, inexorable, titantic advance
progress. It was hopeless it wa.
iragic. but splendid m its blind fer
"Ellen turned back into the duskj
trading room and read for thehun
breath time it seemed, a brus<pue
authoritative letter, written on h
JenaEWt parchment used m offl
«UionS. The message dij
words. It contained
than a dozen lines. Yet the T^era
of it saemed to toll like a f
bell. In effect it stated that 7a1™
Augus Mackay could, by the follow
ing spring, bring back the produc
tion of Fort Edson to something a®
proximating its old-time volume, he
wouid have to be replaced.
Sudden, hot anger gripped Ellen.
A year—they gave him—one short
year to fight back and recuperate.
One year! To this man who had giv
en them a lifetime of faithful, trea
sureful service. True, the letter
hinted also of a pension, a pitiful
dole that was more insulting than it
was contorting. A pension! The
mark of the old and useless. Charity!
Pure vitriol on the open wounds of
her 'father.
Ellen lifted her head defiantly. A
year! Very well, she would show
them what a Mackay could do in a
year. She would fight back, fight
to the last ounce of strength and
will she possessed. And if anyone j
John Benham in particular opposed
her, she -would bring back the meth
ods o>f open battle the very earliest
days of the fur trade had known.
■She was in a corner, her -back to
the wall. Her father’s reputation;
his life; his welfare were at stake.
To win there would be nothing she
would not dare.
At that moment Ellen Mackay
turned savage. Her face settled into
hard, cold lines. The youthfulness,
of her fled, somehow,
She put away the books and re
cords, locked the storerooms ’and
strode off to the home cabin. As
she went she became aware of shouts
down upon the beach. From the
doorway of the cabin she surveyed
the scene below. Several scows and!
a York boat or two were grounded1
on the shingle. A crowd of Indians
and rivermen were grouped on the
shore. Ellen saw her father talking
to one of them, a big burly figure
who towered above the rest like a
'giant among pigmies.
Presently these two advanced up
the slope towards the post. Angus
Mackay with a toiling effort that
‘‘This is Bernard Deteroux, lass," said the factor.
brought a catch to Ellen’s throat and
momentary dimnesB to her eyes; the
stranger with a lithe ease which
belied the itm^pssion Of clumsiness
his huge bpd^gave. Once, when the
old .factor ^ronbled, his companion
steadied him with one powerful hand
and after that helped the old man
over the steepest part of the trail.
This gesture, slight as it was, brought
a warm glow to Ellen, and when the
two finally reached the cabin Ellen’s
eyes were bright and she was smil
ing.
While they were still some yards
away. Ellen felt the impact of the
newcomer’s gaze. She returned the
scrutiny curiously. She saw one of
the biggest men she had ever looked
upon. His shoulders were tremen
dously broad, his chest arched like
a barrel. His flanks were lean, his
legs long and slightly bowed as
though protesting under the weight
of his huge torso. His arms, hared
half-way to the shoulders, were bulg
ed and knotted with muscle. His
features were heroic, yet lean and
cleanly cut, and dark with the com
bined effect of exposure and heri
tage. His eyes were deep and black
and, to Ellen’s slight discomfiture,
curiously hard and inscrutable. There
seemed no depth to them. They were
all surface. Unconsciously Ellen re
coiled slightly at their cold, almost
arrogant survey. Yet the man was
smiling, disclosing two rows of even,
white teeth.
‘■This is Bernard Deteroux, lass,”
panted the factor. “Bernard-—my
uauig tea, julixsu.
Deteroux bowed slightly. “I am
honored, mam’selle.”
Ellen murmured a reply and led
the way into the living room. When
they had seated themselves old An
gus went on with further explana
tions. “Bernard is one of our men,
lass. He is our roving source of
supply. His duties are to keep an
[erven balance in the trade goods at
our various posts. Tell me, lass
is there anything we are in need
I of?”
“We have enough of everythimg,
father,” said Ellen slowly. “Except
[perhaps of blankets.”
| will be pleased to oblige, mam’
Iselle,” broke in Deteroux quickly,
j “A hundred pairs, perhaps, would
be enough?”
. That would be enough, Mr. De
[teroux,” nodded Ellen,
j “Good. You shall have them im
mediately.” He stepped to the open
door and in a. deep resonant voice
j shouted an order down the slope.
Then he turned back. “The blanket;
!rwill be at your storeroom in five
.minutes, mam’selle.’’
(, A moment later Ellen left the rooir
I [to assist Gitchie in preparation oJ
L the midday meal. She founnd th<
r old Chippewyan squaw working ir
, the kitchen in a strangely silen
kmood, and despite Ellen’s curiou;
> questioning, Gitchie would utter n(
-[word. And later, when the meal wa:
- over with she went out to the store
- room with her father and Deteroux
Ellen saw old Moosac bend a look
upon Deteroux of frank, savage hos
tility. Thjis, reasoned Ellen, was.
very strange, for her father was
plainly overjoyed at the presence of
Deteroux, and she knew that both
Moosac and Gitchie were very faith
ful to her father.
For herselif, Ellen found it hard to
define just how Deteroux affected her.
There was an undeniable magnetism
about the man. His very size, his
.ppling strength, and the lithe, easy
swiftness of his movements and the
gleam of his white teeth were attrac
tive. And he was not unhandsome.
Yet his eyes were repelling, and
whenever Ellen ifelt them upon her,
which was disconcertingly often, she
was hard put to it to keep from
shivering openly. The man was at
once attractive and repulsive.
When the blankets had been prop
erly checked in and receipted for,
Deteroux and Angus Mackay left
again, but Ellen stayed at the trading
room, once more immersed in the
study of her father’s predicament,
and trying to plan a course of action
that might avert the threatened cal
amity of the following spring.
Here, an hour later, Bernard Dete
roux came to her alone.
“You will pardon me, mam’selle,”
tie began swiftly. ‘'But I have a
great affection for your father, and
it would be well perhaps, if you and
) should talk of a certain injustice
which the future portends.’’
Ellen knew immediately what De
tecoux meant. Someway, doubtless
through the channels of gossip, or be
cause Angus Mackay had confided
in him, this gigantic riverman knew
of the threat which hung over the
old factor. Though she would not
acknowledge it, Ellen realized that
the task of rehabilitation she had
set herself loomed as well nigh im
possible. Therefore she seized upon
Deteroux’s suggestion with uncon
scious eagerness.
FIFTH INSTALMENT
'<1 have thought of little else, since
earning about it,” she said wearily.
I refuse to give up without a bat
ie. but it seems almost beyond hope
o think of averting it.”
Deteroux’s cold eyes gleamed in
open admiration. VTou are very
courageous, mam'selle. And Bernard
Deteroux will be most happy to help
you in any way possible. Now, be
cause I have been much through all
this country and you have but lately
come back to it, it may be that I
could give you information of many
kinds, should you desire it. Ask me
what you will. I promise that your
confidence will not be abused.”
Ellen looked at him seriously for
a moment. She sensed breeding be
hind Deteroux somewhere. The man
did not talk like the usual run of
river-men. His brain was plainly
alert, his tongue fluent.
"Very well,” said Ellen presently.
"In a case of this sort it is well to
know one's enemies in their true
light. My father feels that John
Benham, the free trader, is to blame
for all his woes. Is it possible that
one man can come into this district
and in three years upset the reputa
tion of an old, established post like
Fort Edson?”
Deteroux shrugged. "It would
seem so, mam’selle. I know of no
other free trader in your territory
hut John Benham.”
“But how can he do it?” persisted
Eilen. <‘He cannot afford to offer
more in trade than can the Hudson
Bay Company."
“True,” noded Deteroux. “Yet,
perhaps, it is not how much he offers
for his furs, but what he offers.”
Ellen stared at him for a moment.
‘I do not understand,” she said
slowly.
“I forget, mam'selle,” went on
Deteroux swiftly. “I forget that
when you left this post four years
|Sgo, the old order still existed. But
do four years many things may
change, as you know. In many ways
our Indian is a child. He has ideals
[that are strange, mam’selle, and
iwhich we cannot grasp. Also he has
jweaknesses upon which the unscru
pulous may trade. An Indian values
giany things, mam'selle, but most oi
jail he values_whiskey.”
! Ellen’s eyes widened. At last she
saw. “Whiskey,” she murmured.
| "John Benham trades whiskey foi
jfurs? But that is against the law
The North-west Mounted Police wit
| not permit trading whisky to the
Sindians.”
’I Deteroux laughed softly. ‘‘You for.
iget, mam’selle. You forget tha
. though they are a great organiza.
. tion, the red-coats are, after all, bu
• men. They are few and the nortl
i country is measured in millions o
t square miles. They cannot he in al
■ places at once. And if Benham it
. cunning, as we know he is, he cal
do much that the law cannot prove.
And the law must have proof.”
Deteroux A, e vent to another of
his expressj^Ejfcrug's. “What can
we do witljjBffie law? And then
also-—what Jplwe prove? We know,
hut we canrtof prove—yet. Perhaps,
later, this weapon may lie in our
hands. And then—there is another
thing.”
“What is that?”
Ellen Mackay was crouched in the bow of a slender birch-bark canoe.
Deteroux looked at Ellen steadily.
You must understand, mam’selle,
that I do not like gossip. But in my
desire to help your father—and you
—I will speak it. John Benham
trades well with the Indians, not
only because he gives them whisky
—but because he is of their blood.
He is one of them.”
For some strange, inexplicable rea
son. Ellen flared almost angrily at
this accusation. The reaction was
unconscious, yet none the lees hon
est.
“Is this also something you know,
but cannot prove?” she asked, and
h >r manner was cold.
Deteroux looked at her with in
scrutable eyes. ‘‘Does it matter?”
he asked answering question with
question.
Ellen felt the hot blood rushing
ihrough her cheeks. Shame gripped
her. Why had she .flared so quickly
in defense of a man towards whom
all rhings pointed as being the cause
of her father’s misfortune; a man
who stooped to that most dastardly
of all tricks, bestialising and robbing
the Indians through the medium of
orbidden whiskey?
"I -wish merely to be fair,” she
tammered.
“You are admirable, mam’selle.
You would be a gallant enemy in
any battle. But this thing I know—
and if necessary—can furnish proof.”
n< it*a s iruari; impulse aiea nara.
‘‘Is it reasonable that he, being of
th ur blood, wTould deliberately bru
talise them and rob them for his own
selfish gain?’
“Reasonable?” said Deteroux with
short, barking laugh. “Not to us,
perhaps. But what is that which is
aid about the half-breed? He has
11 the vices and none of the virtues
of either side of his heritage. Per
haps in John Benham this is also
true. The Indian in him schemes to
atisfy the greed of his white ances
try. If you had known men as I
have known them, mam’selle, you
would not wonder at anything they
do.”
Ellen was silent for a long time.
She knew' Deteroux was watching
her closely. Grudgingly she gave in.
‘ You must be right, Mr. Deteroux.
There is no other way in which he
could hove stolen the trade from us
in so short a time.”
“You reason correctly, mam’selle,”
said Deteroux, and it seemed as
though there was an unconscious
note of triumph in his voice. “I hope
you will not think me now' as just
a gabbling old woman, but one who
sincerely wishes to help your father
and you. Facts, though unpleasant,
are best faced squarely and uncom
promisingly. And if at any time 1
can be of further help to you, you
have but to command.”
‘ Thank you. You have already
shown me a wray out of my dilem
ma.”
“May I presume to ask what that
3S?”
‘‘Of course. It is to furnish proof
to the lawr that John Benham is
trading whiskv to the tribes. He will
then be removed quickly and for
good.”
Deteroux seemed to hesitate.
Something flashed in his eyes, which
tion for the first time. Then he
caught, uip his guard again. ‘T hesi
tate to warn you. mam'selle. But
you must always remember that John
Benham is figuring for high stakes.
In a pinch he might become quite
ruthless.”
“T am not afraid.” said Ellen
quietly. "I, too, can be ruthless.”
‘‘That is true,” nodded Deteroux
thoughtfully. "Well duty calls, and
the river trails are long. 1 will see
you again, mam’selle—when I re
turn.”
; Ellen suffered him to how over
her hand, though at the contact of
his hand, calloused palm she could
hardly repress a shiver. Strangesl
of all, perhaps, was the .fact that she
could not analyse that flurry of feel
ing. It might have been repugnance
or then again it might have beer
something else. There was no deny
ing the magnetism and virility oi
this man. Then another strangr
thing happened. As Deteroux swung
his huge bulk through the doorway
■Ellen caught a glimpse of old Moos
■ac's wrinkled face just beyond, ant
Moceac was openly snarling.
| At sight of the Indian, Deterouj
i eemed to hesitate, then, with a swift
old laugh he elbowed the old Chin
>ewyan aside and swung off on hi:
iwav. Ellen darted to the door. A
I iight of her Moosac slunk away also
and when she called to him he dii
not answer.
1 For a long time Ellen stood there
puzzled furrows wrinkling her smoot]
' brow. Distinctly she sensed som
ominous undercurrent of stark con
: flict and hate swirling about her. I
:|was inexplicable, but it was there
i
The more she tried to draw strange
ends together and make some true
(picture of it, the more confusing it
all was.
Finally she sighed and ,drew her.
thoughts back into more direct chan-;
onels. Here at least she had a clear, j
damning trace to follow. The secret
of John Benham’e exploitation of the
Fort Edson territory was plain. Her
mode of attack was simple and dir
ect. Proof of his trickery to offer to
he law. And she must act now,
while the trading season was at its
height.
Immediately a load seemed shifted
rom her mind. She could think
clearly at last, for ahead lay action.
.True, there was some strange, crush
ing weight in her breast which made
her curiously cold and unfeeling. The
John Benham she had known had
seemed so clean and fine, yet she
was now possessor of knowledge
which made him that meanest and
lowest of all mortals: a man who
traded upon the weakness of the ig
norant and primitive. And he was a
half-breed! j
i Feverishly she began her prepara-1
iions. Her father objected strenu- j
ousty to what she had in mind, but [
she overrode his objections with j
firm determination. And that even-j
ng -when the hush of the short night j
settled down over river and fores:, j
Ellen Mackay was crouched in the j
bow of a slencer birch-bark canoe,
her face turned towards the north, j
In the center of the canoe was a!
heap of baggage. In the rear was:
wrinkled, hunched old Moosac, wield-!
mg a dripping paddle.
Lightly the canoe slipped away!
into the darkness. The dim lights of;
Fort Edson paled and faded from|
view.
Twelve days after leaving Fort)
Edson. Ellen found her first evidence j
of John Ber.ham’s nefarious trading;
activities. She came upon a small
camp of Laird Indians, and saw there
the influence of “firewater” in all its
theilishness. Less than a dozen fam
ines made up the camp. Their pov
erty was heartrending. The bucks
were bleareyed and besotted, sullen
and stupid. Gaunt, stony-faced
squaws stared at Ellen in silence as
she picked her way through the fil
hy jumble of the camp. It was the
plight of the children, of apathetic,
half-starved papooses which parti
cularly tore at Ellen’s heart-strings.)
Enable to understand the brutishnese
I f their elders, the look in their little
eyes begging mutely for food and
till more food, their plight was piti
ful in the extreme. And if they were
^starving now, in the midst of spring
and plenty, what would their future
be when the cold, merciless hand of
A-inter shut down again?
A quick survey and a question or
wo, to which she received hardly
more than a grunt in answer, show
d Ellen that their winter’s eaten of
ure were gone. These furs had gone
i o purchase “firewater,” when they
hould have been used to trade for
ood and blankets, clothes, ammuni
ion, and other supplies to carry the
amp through another winter.
There was nothing Ellen could do.
he left presently, with the whole
i awdry picture’ etched upon her brain
,evond all forgetting. There was no
n is taking this evidence. It lay all
1 bout the camp in the form of dozens
f empty whisky bottles.
Ellen travelled ceaselessly. Bend
I ng her strong young body to the
I ask of paddling, she drove Moosac
■ o his labours until the old Chippew- j
yan was hunched with weariness.)
Phe found camps of Yellowknives!
j nd Dogribs, of Rae and Simpson and I
; la’, River Indians in which condi
tions approximated to those of that
first camp. Everyhere lay the evi
dence of the white man’s murderous I
rmon d o w d tVin Tnrli'in’t! c- f n.Tvi "tiro Q LT- )
j ness. She shivered whenever she j
thought of what would happen when
jwinter shut down again. Everywhere
! he looked, instead of seeing the riot
| ng splendour of the spring the dread
i peetre of famine and wholesale
death seemed to loom. It was there
jefore her eyes as she dropped to
ieep at might, and was still with
ler when she awakened at dawn.
Continued next week.
|
---
; Don’t put up with useless
PAIN
Get rid of it
When functional pains o'
menstruation are severe, take
CARDUI. If it doesn’t bene
fit you, consult a physician.
Don’t neglect such pains. They
depress the tone of the nerves,
. cause sleeplessness, loss of ap
j petite, wear out your resist
ance. Get a bottle of Cardu
1 and see whether it will hel;
you, as thousands of wome*
j have said it helped them,
i Besides easing certain pains, Car
- dui aids in building up the who
t system by helping women to g
more strength from their food.
^HEADLINES <%=
ms
Will Sell Life lo Help
Parents—John Anderson
Jr. of Boston, Mass., a
seaman by trade, has
offered to sell his life for
$1,500. He is 25 years
old. The money will go
to his parents whom he
hasn't seen .oral
years.
||j Winter Sports
PI Queen — Wav
11 ing the flag
M which starts the
§fp first jumper on
the Master Ski
Hill, pretty
Frances Gil
•* more smiles the
'M 11th Annual
yp Winter Sports
Carnival to a
Hf flying start at
■H’ Big Pines, Cal.
Science and the Sun—D. H. Loc'ce, American Radiator manufacturing
head, explains to Clarence M. Woolley, his chairman of the board, the
air conditioner that operates with the solar radiator to provide sun rays
in the home at its introduction in Buffalo.
Ball Park Becomes!
a Lake — In the
Cincinnati Nation
i al League Bail
ParK, home of the
Reds, the recent
floods came almost
up to the second
grandstands.
Everyday Cooking Miracles
BY VIRGINIA FRANCIS
Director Hot point Electric Cookery Institute
Things might have been different
for Peter, the famed pumpkin eater,
who locked up his wandering wife
in a pumpkin shell, had he only
known about pumpkin spice cake!
Mrs. Peter probably would have
been a voluntary “stay-at-home” if
some of this delicious cake v "e al
ways to be found in her .arder.
This 7ii J' v? Jack Horner can’t be blamed for ivanting an advc::ce teste of
this delicious pumpkin spice cake,
And, too, the easy-to-makeness of
this cake might have been another
drawing card, as good results, eas
ily accomplished, can make any
homemaker li'-o h^-r ^-n't
you agree?
Pumpkin spice cak. . t it
sound unusual? We never heard of
it before, either, until—do you want
to know how we got the idea? If
you’ve made apple sauce cake you
know that thick apple sauce acts
as the major liquid ingredient. Well,
if apple sauce can, why can’t cooked
pumpkin? So we tried it, using a
delightful blend of sr'-—, and it
worked!
Electric ..
Perhaps we can’t entirely give
the success of this cake recipe to
the combination of ingredients used.
It looks like the modern electric
range deserves an even fifty per
cent of the honors; because, with
out baking (an electric oven bak
ing at that) even - ’-in cake
batter would-': eat
ing!
And the c...i -..he
matic electric ran^j u— wa oi i
a mighty fine cake. Cold oven cr
one-step baking is the reason. The
cake is placed in the unpreheated
electric oven after which the tem
perature control is set. Then the
baking goes merrily on its way un
til a tall, feathery-light cake
emerges. No wonder young Junior
wants to pull the Jack Homer act
with those tender, flaky crumbs and
puffy fat raisins!
Once we all swallowed the story
about the magic wand which trans
formed a pumpkin into a liveried
shining coach; however, unless \.e
know about the accurate tempera
ture and moisture control of the
electric range, it might be hard to
believe that a panful of pumpkin
cake batter could, after a cold oven
treatment, ever become a cake.
Here is the recipe. You can be
original as to the finishing process;
however, you can’t go wrong by
using an icing, whipped cream or
“saucy” topping.
Pumpkin Z ;,i_e Cake
(Makes 1 loaf cake)
V.i cup short- 2 tsp. baking
ening powder
1 cup sugar 14 tsp. salt
1 egg (beaten) 1 tsp. cinna
3A cup canned or mon
cooked pump- % tsp. cloves
kin 1 tsp. mace
ZA cup milk 1' 1 •’
2 cups cake
flour
Cream shot 1 sugar
slowly, and beat Vic . -idd beaten
egg. Combine pump. 1 and milk
and add alternately with the dry in
gredients, sifted together. Add rai
sins and mix thoroughly. Pour in
greased loaf pan and place in cold
: electric oven. Set Temperature
Control to 350°. Turn switch to
. Bake. Bake approximately 1 hour.