“A little? Oh, that is not nearly enough,” she said, good-naturedly. “Lorena Jane is worth knowing a good deal of.”
“That’s my opinion, too,” he agreed; “but a fellow needs some help sometimes, if he ain’t over handy with the gift of gab.” 344
“Well, now, I should not think you would need much help,” she answered. “You ought to be the sort she would make friends with quick enough.”
“Oh, yes—friends,” he said, and sent the canoe on with swifter, stronger strokes. The other boat, paddled by Indians and carrying baggage, was left far behind.
“You make this run often?” she asked, with a little wonder as to who the man was. His dress was much above the average, his boat was a beautiful and costly thing, and she had not learned, in the haste of her departure, who her boatman was.
“Not very often. Haven’t been up this way for two weeks now.”
“But that is often,” she said. “Are you located in this country?”
“Well—yes, I have been. I struck a silver lode across the hills in yon direction. I’ve sold out and am only prospecting around just now, not settled anywhere yet. My name is McCoy.”
“McCoy!” and like a flash she remembered the post-script of Mrs. Huzzard’s letter. “Oh, yes—I’ve heard of you.”
“You have? Well, that’s funny. I didn’t know my name had got beyond the ranges.”