Swickey, fearing that she would miss the opening of the bundles, gave Cameron a somewhat curtailed account of her first bear hunt, and Cameron, equally solicitous about a certain mysterious package, listened with a vacant gaze fixed on the toe of his dusty boot.
In the cabin David and Avery were inspecting the purchases.
“Glad you got a .45,” he said, handling the new rifle. “They ain’t no use diddlin’ around with them small bores. When you loose a .45 at anything and you hit it, they’s suthin’ goin’ to happen direct. But did you get the dresses?”
“Only one,” replied David. “The other will be ready for us the next time we go to Tramworth. But I want to talk business with you. I met a friend to-day,—a Mr. Bascomb of the new railroad survey.”
Avery hitched his chair nearer.
“You don’t say?” he exclaimed a few minutes later. “Wal, it’s ’bout what I figured, but I can’t make out jest why they’s so mighty pa’tic’lar to get the whole piece of land. You see, if they ain’t suthin’ behind it, land up here ain’t wuth thet money, mine or anybody else’s.”
Cameron came in and took down the drinking-dipper. Over its rim he surveyed the table. The bundles were still unopened. With an expression of disgust he walked to the door and threw half the contents of the dipper on the grass. Then he sat down beside Swickey, moodily silent and glum.
Again he arose and approached the dipper. Still the partners were talking in guarded tones. He drank sparingly and returned the dipper to its nail. The parcels were as he had seen them before.
“Drivin’ team makes a man pow’ful thirsty, eh, Jim?”
“That’s what,” replied Cameron. “’Sides, they’s a skunk prowlin’ round out there,” he added, pointing through the doorway, “and a skunk jest sets my stomach bilin’.”