"I suppose I am, and back at old McGill I'm recorded as an M.D., and the men will persist in calling me 'Doc.' But I like to be called just 'Dick,' without any handle. Dick Russell is my name, by the way. 'Mr.' and 'Doctor' make one feel so old, but just Dick sounds fine to my ears. But, say," he added in a lower voice, "you won't mind looking after Tom, will you? He's all gold, but knocked out just now. He's a character all by himself, true as steel, and full of fun. He's been the life of the camp down river all winter. I must be off now, but would you let me sleep here on the floor to-night if I should come back?"
"Sure," Martin replied. "You're welcome to the best we have, and you'll need it, too, I'm thinking."
Telling Tom to keep up courage, and with a good-by and a wave of the hand to Martin and Nance standing at the door, the young man swung away from the cabin toward the trail, leading along the Quaska River.
CHAPTER XIV
THE SUPPLANTER
Nance stood for a while in the doorway, and watched the retreating form of Dick Russell as it disappeared among the trees. She then turned back into the room, while Martin went off to cut some wood for the fire. The house seemed very lonely now to Nance and strangely silent. It had never appeared so before, and Nance could not understand the reason. She went about her work of washing the dishes and looking after the room, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Her mind dwelt continually upon the stranger who had come so suddenly into her life. She wondered who he was, and what he was doing in the country. He did not come to stake a claim for himself, so she had heard him say. What, then, was his purpose in making the journey over such a terrible trail at this season of the year? She longed to talk the matter over with Martin when he came in with the wood, but for the first time in her young life she found it most difficult to confide in the man who had done so much for her. Several times during the morning she was on the point of speaking, but on each occasion her lips refused to fashion the words, and she became so confused that she was certain Martin would notice her flushed cheeks.
And Martin did notice, although he said nothing. He observed Nance's quiet and preoccupied manner, which was so different from her bright and buoyant disposition. He partly surmised the cause, and it pressed heavily like a great weight upon his heart. He understood how natural it was that Nance, who had never met white men before, should consider this stranger in the light of a hero. He knew how impulsive was her nature, and how ready was her heart to respond to the call of love. Had she been brought up to the ways of the busy world, and had met people of her own age and race, she would, like other maidens of her years, not have been so stirred by the presence of this stranger. But no one had ever told her about the subtle ways of the heart. She was a child of the wilderness, brought up to live and commune with nature. Martin had taught her book knowledge and much about the things of the civilised world. But of the deep passions of the heart he had been silent, and Nance, though now a woman in years, was in many ways but a mere child.
Martin thought of these things now as he had never done before. Nance was all that he had in the world, and he had fondly cherished the idea that she would always be with him to care for him and to love him. But now he realised that he was to be supplanted, and by a stranger at that, a mere stripling, whom Nance had seen for only one hour. It was but natural that a spirit of resentment should rise in his heart as he thought of these things.
All through the morning, and for most of the afternoon, Tom, the white-haired and long-bearded old man, slept upon the cot. It was a sound, natural sleep, and at times Nance went over and stood by his side. His face strongly appealed to her. Lines of care furrowed his brow, and his cheeks were very wan. Occasionally as she watched him a smile would play about the corners of his mouth as if his dreams were pleasant. Nance wondered if he had any one who thought of him in love, and whom he loved in return.