Enoch had been eying Milton closely. "Look here, Milton, I believe you're running a good deal of temperature. Why don't you lie down and rest both mind and body until supper's ready? After you've eaten, we'll make the final decisions."
"I don't want any food," replied Milton, dropping back on his blankets, nevertheless.
"The beans is done but you only get a handful of them in the stew, to-night," said Jonas, firmly. "I'm cooking all the meat, 'cause it won't keep, but you only get half of that now."
Agnew groaned. "Well, there doesn't seem much to look forward to.
Let's finish that game of poker, Forr. Take a hand, Judge and Hard?"
"No, thanks," replied Enoch. "I'll just rest my old bones right here."
"I'll help you out, if Forr won't pick on me." Harden glanced at Milton, but the freckled face gave no sign that Harden's remark had been heeded.
Enoch quietly took the injured man's pulse. It was rapid and weak. Enoch shook his head, laid the sturdy hand down and gave his attention to his pipe and the card game. It was not long before an altercation between Forrester and Harden began. Several times Agnew interfered but finally Forrester sprang to his feet with an oath.
"No man on earth can call me that!" shouted Harden, "Take it back and apologize, you rotter!"
"A rotter, am I?" sneered Forrester. "And what are you? You come of a family of rotters. I know your sister's history! I know—"
Enoch laid a hand on Agnew's arm. "Don't interfere! Nothing but blood will wipe that out."