"No come ma shanty," replied the man, fixing himself squarely across the doorway. "Me trapper—live 'lone."
"Entre nous, mon ami, voila une femme tres malade," returned the Doctor in a more conciliatory tone, "et je vous donnera cinq francs."
"Arjent comptant porte medicine. Oui, oui, monsieur. Entre vous," returned the trapper, slipping to one side and allowing him to enter.
A fire was burning on a rude hearth at one end of the floorless shack, and the ground was packed hard everywhere but around the sloppy doorway. A wooden settle covered with skins stood at one side, while a couple of rough benches, together with a kettle or two, completed the outfit.
By the time the Doctor had made a cursory survey, Harold and Helen, followed by Emmiline, had joined him.
"Will you let me have the whole shanty for to-night if I pay you for it?" Harold asked.
The cunning eyes of the half-breed glanced rapidly over the whole party. Then he answered with a drawl, while he looked quizzically into the officer's face:
"Yah—pour, say five franc, s'il vous plait."
"Well, you shall have it."
"Pay me now."