"Pardon me," Martin remarked, suddenly realising his position as host; "this is my—my daughter, Nance, Nance Rutland. I fear I have been neglecting my duty."
The young man at once stepped forward, and held out his hand.
"This is certainly more than I expected, Miss Rutland," he replied. "I had no idea that there was such a house as this out here. It is a great treat to meet a white woman, especially," he continued with a smile, "when one is starving. I have been doing my own cooking for months, and am thoroughly tired of it."
"You had better wait until you know what my cooking is like," Nance replied, as she took her place at the head of the table.
She tried to be calm, but her heart kept beating very fast, and she knew that her cheeks were flushed more than they should be. She instinctively felt that this stranger was a gentleman, and she wished to do what was proper in his presence, and not seem confused. But her hand trembled as she poured the tea, and she could not trust herself to speak lest she should make some foolish blunder. She tried to imagine how Beryl would act on such an occasion, and what she would say.
There was little need for words, however, on her part. Martin and the stranger talked, so she was content to listen. The young man told about his own experience and that of the others on their wild stampede into the Quaska valley. He drew a pathetic picture of the hardships and sufferings which were endured, and how many became discouraged and turned back. He told of the humorous side as well, and related several stories of an amusing nature.
"If I were only an artist," he concluded, "or if I had a camera along, I should have been able to obtain some excellent pictures."
"I thought that black case contained a camera," Martin replied. "I am quite relieved, for I was afraid lest you should snap our cabin and force Nance and me to undergo the same ordeal."
"Nothing would please me better," the visitor laughed, glancing toward Nance. "But it's not as serious as that. It's only a simple medical case I always carry with me. I've had to use it quite often since leaving Rapid City."
"You're a medical man, then—a doctor," Martin returned.