Dr. Brady nodded grimly.
CHAPTER XV
BILL AND THOMAS
In front of a crackling wood fire, three men dried their wet and bedraggled garments. In spite of the close proximity to the blaze they shivered and their teeth chattered and they looked very unhappy and uncomfortable, indeed. Two of the men wore the conventional garb of white prospector or trapper, while the third, a tall, rather handsome fellow with clear blue eyes and a decisive chin, was arrayed in what might once have been a uniform of his majesty’s Royal North West Mounted Police.
“We gotta thank you,” said one of the men quite humbly, “fer gettin’ us out of that river. Yuh saved our lives all right, but our grub-stake an’ ever’thing we had is gone.”
“Yes,” he resumed mournfully. “Gone! It’s Bill’s fault.”
“I think,” said the man in the wretched uniform, “that it was partly my fault. I startled him. I shouldn’t have cried out to you. It drew his attention and for a moment he must have forgotten to steer.”
The maligned and unfortunate person referred to as “Bill,” drew himself up to a proud height and grunted his disdain. Then he turned his back haughtily upon his partner and addressed himself to the man in the uniform.
“Thomas here,” he declared deprecatingly, jerking one thumb over his shoulder, “ain’t allers responsible fer what he says. I wasn’t the only one that’s been a steerin’ o’ that boat. He was a helpin’ too. An’ he kep’ puttin’ me off, Thomas did, with his jabbin’ here an’ there in the water, like the crazy fool what he is.”
“No such thing,” remonstrated Thomas. “Did yuh tell the officer what yuh done yisterday? I ’spose that wuz all my fault too—you runnin’ aground.”
Bill wheeled about so swiftly that his dripping garments sprayed water in every direction. For a moment even the fire sputtered.