"Well," he said, "I allowed Miss Margaret was around and I'd wait a while."
Jardine wondered whether Bob meant to annoy him. As a rule the fellow was not frank and now his frankness was insolent.
"If ye come another time, ye'll come when I'm aboot. What have ye in yon pack?"
"Berries," said Bob, opening a cotton flour bag. "I reckoned Miss Margaret wanted some. Then I brought a pelt; looked the sort of thing to go round her winter cap."
In the woods, the Indians dry the large yellow raspberries and Bob had brought a quantity to the ranch before. Now he pulled out a small dark skin that Jardine imagined was worth fifty dollars. The value of the present was significant.
"Ye can tak' them back. We have a' the berries we want."
"Anyhow, I guess Miss Margaret would like the skin."
"She would not. Margaret has nae use for ony pelts ye bring."
For a few moments Bob was quiet. Then he said, "Sometimes I blew in for supper and you let me stay and smoke. When you put up the barn, you sent for me to help you raise the logs. The English tenderfoot hadn't located in the valley then."
The blood came to Jardine's skin. To some extent Bob's rejoinder was justified; but Jardine had not until recently imagined Margaret accounted for the fellow's coming to the ranch.