VI
IT was near sunset of the second day after the arrival of Sinth and Silas. They sat together in front of the cook-tent. Silas leaned forward smoking a pipe. His great, brawny arms, bare to the elbow, rested on his knees. His faded felt hat was tilted back. He was looking down at the long stretch of still water, fringed with lily-pads, and reflecting the colors of either shore.
"You'ain't got a cent to yer name," said Sinth, who was knitting. She gave the yam a pull, and, as she did so, glanced up at her brother.
"B-better times!" said he, rubbing his hands.
"Better times!" she sneered. "I'd like to know how you can make money an' charge a dollar a day for board."
Sportsmen visiting there paid for their board, and they with whom Silas went gave him three dollars a day for his labor.
The truth was that prosperity and Miss Strong were things irreconcilable. The representatives of prosperity who came to Lost River camp were often routed by the eye of resentment and the unruly tongue. Strong knew all this, but she was not the less sacred on that account. This year he had planned to bring a cow to camp and raise the price of board.
"You s-see," Strong insisted.
"Huh!" Sinth went on; "we'll mos' kill ourselves, an' nex' spring we won't have nothin' but a lot o' mink-skins."