“I s’pose ye’ll not object to let me rest by yer fire, strangers?” he said, advancing and seating himself without waiting for a reply.
“You’re welcome,” answered Ned, curtly, for he neither liked the manners nor the aspect of the man.
“Ye might ha’ wished us the top o’ the mornin’, I think,” suggested Larry. “Here, try an’ soften yer sperrits with a sup,” he added, pushing a pewter plate of soup and a spoon towards him.
The man made no reply, but ate ravenously, as if he had been starving. When he had finished, he lighted his pipe, and drew his knees up to his chin as he warmed his hands before the blaze. Little information of any kind could be drawn out of this taciturn wanderer. To Ned’s questions, he replied that he had been at the diggings on the Yuba River, which he described as being rich; that he had made enough gold to satisfy all his wants, and was on his way to San Francisco, where he intended to ship for England. His name, he said, was Smith.
He carried a short rifle, with a peculiarly large bore, and a heavy hunting-knife, the point of which was broken off. This last Bill Jones observed, as the man laid it down, after cutting up some tobacco, preparatory to refilling his pipe.
“A good knife! How did ye break it?” inquired Bill, taking up the weapon and examining it.
“Never you mind,” answered the man, snatching it rudely from him, and sheathing it.
At this O’Neil regarded him with an angry expression.
“Faix, av ye wasn’t livin’, so to spake, in me own house, I’d make ye change yer tone.”
“I don’t mean no offence,” said Smith, endeavouring to speak a little less gruffly. “The fact is, gents, I’m out o’ sorts, ’cos I lost a grizzly bar in the hills an hour or two agone. I shot him dead, as I thought, and went up and drove my knife into his side, but it struck a rib and broke the pint, as ye see; and a’most afore I could get up a tree, he wos close up behind me. He went away after a while, and so I got clear off.”