"That's what!" the boys interrupted him to say.
"And I reckon you've had your pick of every miner an' prospector in the district—aye, and loafer, worthy of the name!"
"Sure! Betcherlife!" the boys confirmed him.
"Now," concluded the Bully, magnificently, "the question we're debatin' is jes' this: Hev you give this here blamed Scarlett the mitten, or hev you not?"
Evelyn laughed merrily. "To tell the truth, Nick, he hasn't given the opportunity—as yet."
"And I wouldn't take it if she gave it me," added the soldier, referring to the mitten.
The Bully looked from one to the other, and, in spite of their enigmatic replies, reading in the glances they exchanged some happy understanding, surrendered for good and all.
"Boys," he announced, "the drinks, as usual, is on us when we run up agin the church, perlice, and gals—Here, Parson." He handed his weapon to Maclane who, fearing trouble, had hurried to the spot. "Keep this here shootin'-iron. I ain't fit ter be trusted with it, d'ye see? When I want a shot at moose or ptarmigan I'll borrow the loan of it from you."
"That's what! Betcherlife!" applauded the boys.
When, at last, they found themselves left together, Evelyn held up a mocking finger at her lover. "To think you had to be coerced! For shame!"