Weston laughed.
“I’d forgotten all about it. In some respects I feel a little obliged to it. You see, for once in a while, it’s rather nice to have nothing to do, and know that one’s wages won’t immediately stop. Besides, to be waited on is a pleasant change.”
Ida’s eyebrows straightened a trifle as they sometimes did when she was not exactly pleased. It is by no means an unusual thing in the west for a packer or a ranch hand to converse with his employers or their friends on familiar terms, and it occurred to her that it was a trifle superfluous for him to insist on reminding her of his status when she was willing to forget it. Still, she was quite aware that this man had not always been a packer, and she was conscious of an increasing curiosity concerning his past.
“That is an unusual experience with you?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” said Weston. “Anyway, during the last few years.”
She was foiled again, for she could not press the question more closely; and, sitting still in the shadow, she looked up between the dark fir branches at the line of gleaming snow and the great rock rampart beneath which they had crept.
“Were you ever up so high before?” she ventured.
“Yes,” said Weston. “I believe so; but never for pleasure. In fact, I think some of the ranges we crossed on the gold trail must have been considerably higher. I told you that prospecting is one of my weaknesses.”
“You did,” agreed Ida. “It’s one I could never understand, though I have spent some time, in this province. Every now and then it seems that the rancher must leave his clearing and wander off into the bush. As you admitted, he generally comes home dressed in rags, and very seldom brings anything with him. Why do you do it?”
Weston laughed in a rather curious fashion.