“Mr. Shirley’s claim is a few miles down the river, if you go by the short trail and ford at the bends, but much longer if you go around by the long trail,” Virginia explained.
“Is it occupied?” Champers put the question in a careless tone.
Pilot’s bristles, that had fallen at the sound of Virginia’s voice, rose again with the query. It is well to be wary of one whom a dog distrusts. But the woman’s instinct in Virginia responded little to the dog’s uneasiness, and she replied courteously:
“Yes, Mr. Shirley is there, very sick.” 73
“Um, who have I the honor of addressing now?” Champers asked awkwardly, as if to change the subject.
“Mrs. Asher Aydelot.”
“Well, now, I’ve heard of Aydelot. Where is your man today? I’d like to meet him, Mrs. A.”
It was the man’s way of being friendly, but even a duller-fibred man than Champers would have understood Mrs. Aydelot’s tone as she said:
“You will find him at Shirley’s, or on the way. Only the long trail winds around some bluffs, and you might pass each other without knowing it.”
“How many men in this settlement now?” Champers asked.