“I’m most afraid to ask what it is, ma’am, for lyin’ and stealin’ is the only crimes I denies.”
“I’ll tell you when I know you better,” Helen laughed, “because I hope we’re going to be good friends.”
He looked keenly into her face. “I wouldn’t never look for any trouble between you and me, ma’am. Shake.” He added with a smile: “I ain’t got so many friends that I kin afford to turn one down.”
“You’ll have enough of them shortly,” Helen smiled. “I know the world sufficiently well to be sure of that. I hope I’m the first to congratulate you on your good fortune. Mr. Dill has told me something of your luck. He says you’re going to be the saviour of the camp.”
“I been crucified a-plenty,” Uncle Bill replied, with a significant look at Ore City sitting with its mouth agape, “but,” modestly, “I wouldn’t hardly like to go as far as to call myself that.”
XXVIII
“Annie’s Boy”
When Bruce was left alone in the gloomy canyon, where the winter sun at its best did not shine more than three hours in the twenty-four, he had wondered whether the days or nights would be the hardest to endure. It was now well into December, and still he did not know. They were equally intolerable.
During the storms which kept him inside he spent the days looking at the floor, the nights staring at the ceiling, springing sometimes to his feet burning with feverish energy, a maddening desire to do something—and there was nothing for him to do but wait. Moments would come when he felt that he could go out and conquer the world bare-handed but they quickly passed with a fresh realization of his helplessness, and he settled back to the inevitable.