A bright fire and a singing coffee-pail welcomed the three as the door swung wide, and the section-boss, who was urging Marylyn to "rustle some grub," turned with a testy word. But he fell silent when he saw Lounsbury, and edged into the dusky shelter of the hearth-side.
The storekeeper nodded to him, shook hands absently with the younger girl, and took a bench. His face looked less full than usual, and was lighted by no hearty smiles.
Little was said until breakfast was ready—a quick breakfast of bacon, pone, and coffee. The three men warmed themselves. The girls moved between fireplace and table. But when the plates were set and the coffee poured, David Bond asked for the story of Matthews' doings, of the affair at the saloon, the meeting with Colonel Cummings, and the council. Dallas and Marylyn heard it from where they stood together before the blaze. Lancaster heard it,—though he pretended not to,—eating and drinking the while with angry smacks.
Lounsbury paid no attention to the section-boss. In fact, before his recital was done, he had forgotten him. He talked quietly and without boasting, his face now turned to David Bond, now to the girls.
"And you think," said the evangelist, when the story was finished, "you think that Matthews will drop his claim to the Bend?"
Lounsbury arose, as if to go, and for the first time since his entrance looked squarely at Lancaster. "This is what I think:" he answered, "in Dakota, if a man jumps land that hasn't been improved, all he's got to do is to hang on to it; don't have to rassle with any fine points of law. This far west of stuffed chairs, there's a whole lot in public sentiment." He crossed the room and picked up coat and cap.
"Of course," added David Bond, "following the law would strengthen the case."
"Of course."
The section-boss adjusted his crutches and stood up. "You-all seem t' be settlin' it 'thout any o' my lip," he said, and laughed mockingly.
"We have your interests at heart," replied the storekeeper.