“The sizes in them Levi Strauss’ allus run too small,” Uncle Bill observed suddenly, after Sprudell had squeezed into Toy’s one pair of overalls.
“There’s no sense in us all staying here to starve,” said Sprudell defiantly, as though he had been accused. “I’m going to Ore City before I get too weak to start.”
“I won’t stop you if you’re set on goin’; but, as I told you once, you’ll be lost in fifteen yards. There’s just one chance I see, Sprudell, and I’ll take it if you’ll say you’ll stay with Toy. I’ll try to get down to that cabin on the river. The feller may be there, and again he may have gone for grub. I won’t say that I can make it, but I’ll do my best.”
Sprudell said stubbornly:
“I won’t be left behind! It’s every man for himself now.”
The old man replied, with equal obstinacy:
“Then you’ll start alone.” He added grimly: “I reckon you’ve never wallered snow neck deep.”
For the first time the Chinaman stirred, and raising himself painfully to his elbow, turned to Uncle Bill.
“You go, I think.”