The conversation lagged. Axel sat smoking, eyes ceilingward and chair tilted at a perilous angle. “Fisty Harrigan give me the dirty end of the stick,” he thought. “But I got holt of the stick and Fisty’s goin’ to git it back ag’in good and plenty. Here I be settin’ easy and com’f’table right on the job. Hoss Avery and his partner Ross is plumb square, both of ’em. And the young feller’s mighty smart, keepin’ the ole man from sellin’ even if he don’t know they’s a fortune of money up there in Timberland, layin’ right on the ground waitin’ for him to come and find it. And, by gum, he’s a-goin’ to find it. All bets is off with Denny Harrigan and me. He done me and I’m goin’ to do him; and Ross he pulled me out of the snow, dumb near friz, and I reckon when I show him what’s over on Timberland, I’ll be square with the whole bilin’ of ’em. Then me fur Canady. Them St. John’s folks need men. Guess I kin land a job, all right.”
Swickey wanted to talk, but Barney’s abstraction awed her. She left the room finally, and returned with her “Robinson Crusoe.” She sidled up to the lumberman and laid the book on his knee. Still he smoked, apparently oblivious to the girl’s presence.
“Barney.” The tone was cajoling.
“Wal, sis?”
“Kin you read?”
“Wal, some.”
“Pop kin!” This was a challenge.
Barney glanced at the volume. “You want me to read this here?” he said, his chair clumping to the floor.
“Yes.”
“Thanks. I was feelin’ kind of lonesome.”