They squatted on the floor at the farthest possible distance from the bed and half-heartedly dealt the cards for euchre. Meanwhile Sam busied himself baking bread, trying to remember what he could of the girl's deft technique. He could think of her now with a pleasant warmth about the heart. She had redeemed her sex in his eyes.
Careless of whether he heard them, the men joked outrageously about Husky's condition. It was their way of hiding their helpless terror.
"Well, old Husk is bound for the heavenly shore, I guess," said Jack.
"We'll give him a bang-up funeral," suggested Joe. "Spill a little booze and carve a board to put at his head. It's the least we can do for a pal."
"When Husk gets to the golden gates," Jack went on, "if Peter tries to hold him up, he'll say, 'What is it worth to you, old man?'"
This well-known saying of their partner produced a subdued laugh all around.
Black Shand remarked in his curt way: "Husky wouldn't get along in heaven. Ain't got no ear for music."
"He'd be in trouble down below, too," said Jack. "He'd undertake to show the Old Boy himself how to build a fire."
Outside the pine branches thrashed wildly, and gusts of rain were flung against the panes of the little window above the players' heads. Water found its way through more than one place in the sod roof and dripped sullenly on the floor. From time to time the game shifted, seeking a dry spot.
On such a day the pioneers were keenly conscious of their isolation. The emptiness of the land seemed to press upon their breasts, hindering free breathing. Moreover, their nerves were still jangling as a result of the night's events.