“Stranger, I don’t know who you are, but you’re the right sort. I’ve got some whisky inside. Will you drink?”
“Thank you,” answered Wentworth hastily, “but I am out of health, and my doctor won’t let me drink whisky. Thank you all the same!”
“Oh, well, if you can’t, you can’t. You ain’t puttin’ on no frills, are you?”
“Not at all, my friend. If you’ll make room for me, I’ll sit down beside you.”
Jake Amsden was sitting on a log. He moved and made room for the visitor.
“Have you lived here long?” asked Wentworth sociably.
“A matter of a few months.”
“What do you find to do?”
“Nothin’ much. I reckon I’m a fool to stay here much longer. I’ll be makin’ tracks soon. Goin’ to stay long yourself?”