"He'll be here directly," answered Murchison. "John, I want ye to meet my clerk, Sven Larsen. He's the best clerk I ever had."
McNabb glanced into the bearded face that blinked stupidly at him. "Ye haven't be'n over favored with clerks, I'd say, Dugald. But how are ye fixed for quarters?"
Murchison laughed. "I guess we can rig up a bunk for ye, John."
"It ain't myself I was thinkin' about. It's the lass. She's had four pretty hard days on the trail, an' she'd be the better for a comfortable bunk."
"The lass!" exclaimed Murchison.
"Jean! Here!" Strong fingers gripped McNabb's arm, and he stared in astonishment into the face of Sven Larsen. The loose-lipped, vapid expression was gone, and the blue-gray eyes stared into his own with burning intensity.
"You don't mean——? Why, Oskar lad!"
"Sh—sh. But she mustn't know! Promise me—both of you! She will be going to bed early, and after supper I'll see you at the landing."
McNabb studied the face quizzically. "Ye fooled me, all right, but I'm doubtin' ye can fool Jean."
"At least, I can try," answered the clerk. "I'll see you at supper," and without waiting for a reply, he ascended the ladder that led to the fur loft.