“What should you say he ought to do, Leggy?”
“Make his hay while the sun shines,” said the other. “He’s tumbled into a bit o’ luck, and if he knows what he’s about he’ll just stop along with us. We don’t want him, seeing as our party’s made up, but we don’t want to be hard on a lad as is a bit hign’rant o’ what he’s got to go through.”
“That’s so,” put in the man addressed as Joey. “You can’t do it, mate. Why, if it hadn’t been for us you’d ha’ been a hicicle afore morning, if the bears and wolves hadn’t tucked you up warm inside. You’ve got to take a good offer. Now, Beardy, bring out the tins; that soup’s done by this time.”
The traveller made no reply, but leaned a little more over the fire, wishing that he had braved the dangers of the bitter frost and snow, and feeling that he had been too ready to break down at the first encounter with trouble. For the more he saw of his new companions the less he, liked them, and he was not long in making up his mind what to do.
By this time three big tin cups, which fitted one into the other, had been produced, and filled from the steaming contents of the kettle.
“We didn’t expect company,” said the cook, “so two of us’ll have to do with one tin, and have it filled twice. You and me’ll join, Joey, and let squire have my tin.”
“No, thank you,” was the reply, made quietly and firmly. “I will not intrude on your good nature farther. I was a bit done up, but the fire has set me right again, and I’m quite ready to take the risks of the journey alone.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said the man gruffly.
“I’ll get you to let me rest here by the fire for an hour to eat my bit of bread and meat, and then I’ll camp near you and go on again as I came. I shall manage, I daresay.”
“Are we going to stand this, mates?” cried the red-bearded man fiercely.