The questioner was a tall, lanky teamster, answering to the appellation of Shorty.
“Never in love before,” said Scotty, as he swallowed his coffee with a gulp.
An uproarious laugh ran around the table.
“Her hair is like the flower o’ Scotia’s broom in springtime, and the sheen o’ her eyes is like Loch Achray!” exclaimed Scotty, as he passed his plate for a fresh relay of flapjacks.
“A love affair doesn’t spoil his appetite,” laughed Marjorie.
“I want you all to understand that no falling in love’ll be allowed on this journey,” said the Captain, dryly. “There’ll be time enough for that kind o’ nonsense after you get to Oregon and get settled.”
“Love, like death, has all seasons for its own, sir,” retorted Scotty, with a deferential bow.
“Women and war don’t go together,” replied his employer. “And you’ll find this journey is a good deal like war before you’re done with it.”
“Everything is fair in both love and war, sir.”
“Excuse me,” said a woman in black, with a low, mellow voice and blond complexion, who might have heard herself discussed if she had listened. The clatter around the table stopped instantly.