As Donald moved to his place at the table the men arose and clapped their hands. Someone called for a cheer, but Donald laughingly held up his hand.
“Men, I can’t find words to tell you how much I appreciate your good work. Your long hours of labour enabled the Company to get an important order away on time, thereby saving their prestige in a big Eastern market. You will receive double pay for every hour you worked during the week.”
A low murmur of applause followed this welcome announcement.
After lunch, feeling the need of exercise, Donald made his way slowly down the hill. The severe mauling and the days in bed had weakened him to such an extent that he was forced to take frequent rests. As he turned a curve in the trail, Hand and the man with whom Andy had fought crawled stealthily from the bush, looked furtively about them, then followed Donald down the hill. He reached the open glade by the fairy nest to find Connie seated by the rippling stream, her chin resting in cupped hands, and staring dreamily into the flashing water.
“Ah!” he cried gaily, “I have caught my little dryad at her orisons.”
At the sound of his voice Connie sprang to her feet, her heart racing madly. Hearing a sound behind him, Donald turned to find the eyes of the Breed fixed on him in a malignant glare that chilled him to the marrow. For a short interval the dusky orbs of the Indian held his as though with a hypnotic power.
“Whew!” he ejaculated, as the Breed hobbled down the trail, “your guardian sure does give me an awful look. Why does he hate me, Connie?”
“Joe has peculiar ways,” she parried.
“What were you dreaming about, Connie?” he asked interestedly.
A gay light danced momentarily in her shining eyes, and the red lips curved in a smile; “I was dreaming I was rich,” she archly confessed.