"What's your game?" repeated Mac sternly, as the Boy reached the door.
"What's the good o' talkin'?" he answered; but he paused, turned, and leaned heavily against the rude lintel.
"Course, I know you'd be shot before you'd do it, but what I'd like, would be to hear you say you wouldn't kick up a hell of a row if Father Wills happens in to the House-Warmin'."
Mac jerked his set face, fire-reddened, towards the fossil-finder; and he, without waiting for more, simply opened the door, and heavily footed it back to the Big Cabin.
Next morning when Mac came to breakfast he heard that the Boy had had his grub half an hour before the usual time, and was gone off on some tramp again. Mac sat and mused.
O'Flynn came in with a dripping bucket, and sat down to breakfast shivering.
"Which way'd he go?"
"The Boy? Down river."
"Sure he didn't go over the divide?"