"Decorative, to say the least," she remarked, at last flashing him the threatened smile.
"Yes, ma'am—what ma'am?" he stammered.
"The uniform of the Mounted as you wear it in that door frame," she teased him. "At that, I'd rather see it—you on a horse."
He fell back on the only defense he knew—a pretense at seriousness. "Up here we're the Royal Canadian Dis-Mounted Police, Miss O'Malley. We know only two seasons—dog and canoe. There isn't a single 'G' Division mount north of Fort Resolution. By the time I see a horse again, I'll probably have forgotten how to ride. I'll climb aboard Injun style and try to steer him by his tail."
The sergeant was glad to hear the crunch of steps upon the snow. Under the circumstances, he was in no mood for persiflage and more than willing to give up the bluff that seemed required. He stifled a sigh of relief as La Marr ushered in the missionaries.
A quiet couple, plain, both a trifle frail-looking for Arctic rigors, the Morrows proved to be. Serious as they were about "The Work" to which they were prepared to give years of sacrifice, both were "regulars" in the life of the North. Scarcely would they wait to warm up before insisting on helping their hosts prepare supper. Moira, too, insisted on having a hand. The lean-to kitchen refused to hold them all, however, so Seymour cited the "too many cooks" rule and discharged all but Mrs. Morrow.
The meal which soon was on the oilcloth was more substantial than formal. It consisted of warmed-up soup from a great kettle that held a week's supply at a time, then sizzling carabou steaks, sour-dough bread, boiled beans and bacon and, of course, marmalade from distant England. It was the sort of menu that "sticks to the ribs" gratefully after a day in the open. When Karmack came in for his promised coffee, he found the post gayer than ever he had known it to be. Yet, for three of them buoyancy was as forced as jigging at a wake.
With tact increased by the fear that some chance slip would disclose to their lovely guest the news that he felt temporarily should be kept from her, Sergeant Seymour discovered that the ladies were worn by their long run in the biting cold. He threw open the door of "officers' room," disclosing a wood fire crackling in a Yukon stove and two bunks spread with blankets fresh from the post's reserve supply.
"Not much to offer as a guest room, but our one best bet," he apologized. "I'll confess frankly that there isn't a single bunk-sheet in the detachment. But I think I can guarantee a sound sleep for both of you. I'll promise there'll be no breakfast alarm in the morning, but the makings of a meal will be beside the kitchen stove when you're ready."
Protest unexpected came from mild-mannered Mrs. Morrow. "But we're routing you out of house and home, sergeant," she exclaimed. With a nod of her blond head, she indicated an extra uniform which dangled from a hook against the wall, telltale staff stripes upon its crimson sleeve.