"Just about—but we can't go off and leave him, at that."
Twenty minutes later Connie and the Indian entered the cabin.
"You took yer time about it," complained the man. "Hustle around now an' cook me up a meal of vittles."
"Where's your firewood?" asked the boy, smothering his wrath.
"Go out an' cut it, same as we do."
"Don't you keep any ahead, nor any kindlings?"
"Naw, it's bad enough to cut a little at a time."
Connie's glance sought the room. "Where's the ax?"
"Out in the brush, I guess. My partner cut the wood last. I don't know where he left it."