“No; not likely bears,” said he. “Badgers, more like. They’re awful thieves.”
“Thank you for the advice. I meant to put them in today, but I’ve been so distracted by last night’s awful events––”
“Yes, I know,” Smith nodded. “I’ll put ’em in for you.”
Smith stored the boxes within the tent. The exertion brought out the sweat on his red face. He stood wiping it, his hat in his hand, turning his eyes to see how she regarded his strength.
“I tell you, a woman needs a man to do the heavy work for her in a place like this,” he hinted.
“I’m finding that out,” she laughed.
Smith sat down comfortably on the box lately occupied 275 by Dr. Slavens. He buckled his hands over a knee and sat with that foot raised from the ground in a most ungainly, but perhaps refreshing, attitude.
“Thinkin’ about marryin’?” he asked.
The frankness of the question relieved her of embarrassment. She smiled.
“I suppose every woman thinks of that, more or less,” she admitted.