CHAPTER XVII
HEART THRUSTS
That evening a little group gathered before the open fire, for the nights were still cool. Martin was in better spirits, and talked freely with the old prospector, to whom he had taken a great liking. Dad Seddon was sitting close to Nance, gazing upon the bright flames as they licked around the large chunks of wood and then curled up the chimney. The sleep had much refreshed the old man, although he was still quite weak from his hard experience since leaving Rapid City.
Tom was in fine fettle. The little circle pleased him greatly, and at times he cast admiring glances toward Nance, who was busy with her needle. He had been thinking deeply over what he had heard that day about Martin, and he was anxious to know for certain if he were the same man who had buried his Nell years ago. He had tried in vain to find some resemblance between this long-bearded, rugged frontiersman and the trim young man who had stood before him on that saddest day of his whole life. "It cannot surely be the same," he thought, as he turned his eyes occasionally toward Martin, who was puffing away at his pipe. "And yet," he mused, "years make a great difference in a man's appearance."
"How are ye feelin' now, Dad?" he suddenly asked, turning to the old trapper.
"Better, Tom," was the brief quiet reply.
"That's good. A game of chess would put ye right on yer pins, eh?"
"Sure thing!" and Dad's eyes brightened at the mention of his favourite game.
"Ah, I thought that would bring ye out of yer dumps," and Tom's hearty laugh rang out. "But ye needn't think that I'm goin' to keep my nose down over any chess-board to-night, not a bit of it."
"No?" and the old man looked his disappointment.