“Take your gauge along with you, can’t you?”
“I dunno ’bout that,” said Henry. “But if ye was to pay me well enough—”
“How much will your services be worth?”
Henry pursed his lips. “I get seven and a half a month for bein’ weather man,” he mused, “and, come next month, I’ll have a line o’ traps strung between Rustler Crick an’ Palance Ridge. If I’m lucky, I oughta clean up a hundred dollars at th’ traps th’ month we’d be gone. An’ then—”
“I’ll give you two hundred and fifty dollars to take us to where we can continue on ourselves to the Valley of Arcana,” Charmian interrupted.
“Well-l-l—” Shirttail Henry Richkirk puckered his lips doubtfully.
“Or until we give up in despair,” Charmian supplemented.
Henry rose briskly from the fireside. “Be up an’ fed by six o’clock,” he said. “I’ll be ready.”
He started to flutter toward his cabin when the sharp voice of Mary Temple stayed his steps.
“Where are your snowshoes? Where is any grub sufficient to take these idiots on a trip like that?” she demanded.