"Didn't know he had a daughter," quoth Joe. "He never tol' me——"
This created a laugh, as Joe meant it should.
"The major hasn't been so social since he was stationed at Fort Benton, as to tell us his family affairs," reminded Charlie.
"Bob's thinkin' o' that girl," surmised the mate, openly, as Burroughs looked longingly toward the Fontenelle.
The boats, obstructed by the bar, were delayed the better part of two days, and came to feel quite neighborly. The enamoured Burroughs made another call, but he came back with a grievance.
"She wanted to know who the fellow was with the complexion like a girl's. I told her that if she meant Danvers," here he turned toward the object of his comment, "that he was nothin' but a private in the Canadian North West Mounted Police. She wasn't interested then," maliciously.
"Army girls don't look at anything under a lieutenant, you bet!" seconded Toe String Joe. "She probably won't even take any notice of me!"
"She'd heard, through the captain, about the 'hero' who saved Charlie's sister, and she wanted to know all about it," sneered Burroughs.
"Did you tell her how the railin' happened to break?" insinuated Charlie.
Philip Danvers remembered the fling. However, what did it matter what Miss Thornhill thought of him or his position? He would probably never meet her. Yet as the Far West followed the Fontenelle up the river, he watched the girl's face turned, seemingly, toward him; and as the first steamer disappeared around a bend, the alluring eyes seemed like will-o'-the-wisps drawing him on. As he turned, other eyes, soft and affectionate, were upraised to his, and a child's hand crept into his with mute sympathy.