A glitter in each man's eyes suggested that his hospitality was not entirely disinterested. They were inclined to bristle at each other. Clearly a dangerous amount of electricity was being stored within the little shack. Only Sam was as self-contained in his way as the girl in hers.
Big Jack continued his efforts to communicate with her. He was deluded by the idea that if he talked a kind of pidgin-English and shouted loud enough she must understand.
"Me, Big Jack," he explained; "him, Black Shand; him, Husky; him, Young Joe. You?" He pointed to her questioningly.
"Bela," she said.
It was the first word she had uttered. Her voice was like a strain of woods music. At the sound of it Sam looked up from his flour. He quickly dropped his eyes again.
When Joe brought her the box to sit on, he lingered beside her. Good-looking Young Joe was a boasted conqueror of the sex. The least able of them all to control his emotions, he was now doing the outrageously masculine. He strutted, posed, and smirked in a way highly offensive to the other men.
When, Bela sat down Joe put a hand on her shoulder. Instantly Big Jack's pale face flamed like an aurora.
"Keep your distance!" he barked. "Do you think the rest of us will stand for that?"
Joe retreated to the bed, crestfallen and snarling, and things smoothed down for the moment.
"Where do you live?" Jack asked the girl, illustrating with elaborate pantomime.