“You’ve got to use me if you’re going to have the women,” he chuckled. “You know that by this time, don’t you, mister?”
Again Moir’s black head nodded in grudging assent.
“What then?” he demanded.
“I’m a handy man around a camp, mister,” whined Reivers. “You got to take me along if you take the women, but I can be a help——”
“Canst cook?” snapped Moir suddenly.
“Heh, heh! Can I cook?” Reivers rubbed his hands. “I’m an old—I used to be an old sour-dough, mister. Did you ever see one of the old-timers who couldn’t cook?”
“Might use thee then,” said Moir. “My fool of a cook has gone. Sent him after a woman for me, and he hasn’t come back. Happen he got himself killed, tuh fool. Wilt kill him myself if he ever shows up without tuh woman. Well, then, if that’s settled—what’s tuh bargain?”
Reivers appeared to struggle with indecision. In reality the situation was very clear to him. Moir had listed him as a weakling; therefore he had no fear of taking him to the mine. Once there, Moir would be confident of winning the loyalty of the two women from their apparently helpless master. And as it was apparent that the man whom Reivers had slain with a rock had been Moir’s cook, it was probable that he was sincere in his offer to use Reivers in that capacity.
“In the Spring,” said Reivers in reply to Moir’s question, “me and my two kids go north again, back among their own people.”
“In the Spring,” growled Moir, “canst go to —— for all of me. I’ll be travelling then myself. Speak out, sonny. How much?”