"What is your father's name, boy?"
"Sam Morgan."
At the name the man started and an exclamation escaped his lips.
"Do you know him?" The boy's face was eager with expectation, and the man found the steadfast gaze of the blue eyes disconcerting.
"Just you wait here, son, for a minute, while I run up to the store. Maybe some of the boys know him." And he turned and hurried toward the long, low building into which the men had disappeared.
"Boys!" he cried, bursting in on them, "there is a kid out here. Came in on the boat. He is hunting for his dad." The men ceased their talk and looked at the speaker with interest. "And, Heaven help us, it's Sam Morgan's boy!"
"Sam Morgan's boy! Sam Morgan's boy!" In all parts of the room men repeated the words and stared uneasily into each other's faces.
"He has got to be told," said Dick, with a shake of the head. "You tell him, Pete. I couldn't do it."
"Me neither. Here you, Waseche Bill, you tell him."