“Worse than that; we've got ten feet less than nothing.”
Shorty departed down the bank on the run. Five minutes later he returned. In response to Joy's look, he nodded. Without speech, he went over to a log and sat down to gaze steadily at the snow in front of his moccasins.
“We might as well break camp and start back for Dawson,” Smoke said, beginning to fold the blankets.
“I am sorry, Smoke,” Joy said. “It's all my fault.”
“It's all right,” he answered. “All in the day's work, you know.”
“But it's my fault, wholly mine,” she persisted. “Dad's staked for me down near Discovery, I know. I'll give you my claim.”
He shook his head.
“Shorty,” she pleaded.
Shorty shook his head and began to laugh. It was a colossal laugh. Chuckles and muffled explosions yielded to hearty roars.
“It ain't hysterics,” he explained. “I sure get powerful amused at times, an' this is one of them.”