His companion looked at him steadily. “When you came here you hadn’t a belt on. There was not a dollar in your pockets, either.”
This was naturally a blow to Nasmyth. He realized that it would probably be several weeks at least before he was strong enough to work again, and he had evidently been a charge upon these strangers for some little time. Still, he did not for a moment connect any of them with the disappearance of his belt. He was too well acquainted with the character of the men who are hewing the clearings out of the great forests of the Pacific slope. As a matter of fact, he never did discover what became of his belt.
“Well,” he said, “I suppose I forgot to put it on, one of those mornings on the march. Still, it’s not very 25 astonishing that the thing should worry me. I can’t expect to stay on at this ranch. When do you think I can get up and set out again?”
“How long have you been out here?”
“Been out?”
Gordon laughed. “You’re from the Old Country––that’s plain enough.”
“Several years.”
“In that case I’m not going to tell you we’re not likely to turn you out until you have some strength in you. I believe I’m speaking for Miss Waynefleet now.”
Nasmyth lay still and considered this. It was, at least, quite evident that he could not get up yet, but there were one or two other points that occurred to him.
“Does the ranch belong to Miss Waynefleet?” he inquired. “She can’t live here alone.”