“Oh, you wanted to cart water so we could do our mining, Zeek? Well, that was very kind of you,” went on Uncle Tod, “but what little washing my partner did before the river became lost, didn’t pan out enough metal to make it pay, and I don’t believe we could afford to give you any wages.”
“Oh, I’d be willin’ t’ work for my grub, Uncle Tod.” Everyone in that region seemed to have adopted this friendly name.
Mr. Belmont shook his head and smiled in a somewhat sarcastic manner.
“I reckon not, Zeek,” he answered. “We’ve got some new prospectors now,” Uncle Tod went on. “There’s one,” and he indicated Ruddy. “It’ll be about all we can feed in a dry camp. But if you’re hungry now, I reckon we can hand you out a snack.”
“Wa’al,” drawled Zeek, “it’s been a good while since breakfast!”
“Hum!” mused Uncle Tod. “Well, sit over there, Zeek,” indicating a bench, “and Sam’ll bring you out some grub.”
Then as Rick, Chot and Mr. Campbell entered the cabin, Uncle Tod said, in a low voice:
“Zeek isn’t just the kind you want to sit down to the table with—even out in this free and easy place. He goes at his food as if it might come to life and get away from him. He’ll be more at home out there.”
Uncle Tod’s camp cabin was a more comfortable place than at first appeared. The food was excellent, though not of the finest sort, but it was well cooked, and whatever else Sam Rockford might be—gloomy and inclined to look on the dark side of everything—he certainly knew how to serve a meal. The boys and Mr. Campbell testified to this, and Ruddy would have said the same had he been able to speak.
Zeek was fed out in the open, and soon departed, murmuring his thanks. And then, as the others finished their meal, and pushed back their rough stools that served for chairs, Mr. Campbell asked: