Margaret got down, took a pack from the saddle, and tied the horse to a tree. Bob got up from the fire, seized his rifle, and looked at Margaret.
"I'm going to get a deer," he said and vanished in the wood. The underbrush was thick, but they did not hear him go.
"When I was at the station the agent gave me your mail and some groceries," said Margaret. "My father allowed you were busy, and I'd better take the truck along."
Jimmy said, "Thank you," and gave her a thoughtful look. Margaret's voice was cultivated, but she talked like a bush girl. At the hotel she had not.
"I didn't order a fruit pie and a number of bannocks," he said when he opened the pack.
"Oh, well, I was baking, and I reckoned if Bob was cook, you wouldn't get much dessert. But have you eaten yet?"
Jimmy said he imagined breakfast was ready and Margaret went to the fire, glanced at the half-raw trout, and threw a black, doughy cake from a plate.
"A white man cooks his food," she said meaningly. "Take a smoke while I fix something fit to eat."
Jimmy pushed two or three letters into his pocket and sat down on a cedar log. If Margaret meant to cook his breakfast, he imagined she would do so and he was satisfied to watch her. For one thing, she knew her job, and Jimmy liked to see all done properly. She did not bother him for things; she seemed to know where they were. After a time, she put the trout and some thin light cakes on a slab of bark, and Jimmy remarked that the fish were an appetizing golden brown.
"I expect you have not got breakfast, and I'll bring you a plate," he said.