"A remark was made the other night which struck me as quite warranted," Benson said. "It was pointed out that I had contributed nothing to the cost of this trip."
"It was very uncivil of Harding to mention it," Blake answered.
"Still, you see, circumstances rather forced him."
"Oh, I admit that; indeed, you might put it more harshly with truth.
But I want to suggest that you let me take a share in your venture."
"Sorry," said Harding promptly; "I can't agree to that."
Benson sat smoking in silence for a moment.
"I think I understand," he said, "and I can't blame you. You haven't much cause for trusting me.
"I didn't mean——"
"I know," Benson interrupted. "It's my weakness you're afraid of. However, you must let me pay my share of the provisions and any transport we may be able to get. That's all I insist on now; if you feel more confidence in me later, I may reopen the other question." He paused, and continued with a little embarrassment in his manner: "You are two good fellows. I think I can promise not to play the fool again."
"Suppose we talk about something else," Blake suggested.
They broke camp early the following morning; and Benson struggled manfully with his craving during the next week or two, which they spent in pushing farther into the forest. It was a desolate waste of small, stunted trees, many of which were dead and stripped of half their branches, while wide belts had been scarred by fire. Harding found the unvarying somber green of the needles strangely monotonous; but the ground was comparatively clear, and the party made progress.