For a moment or two he stood looking back up the stream by which, last night, he had come. Then he began tying his paddles to the canoe thwarts in preparation for packing it across the portage.
As he was tying on the second paddle, Duff's eye fell on him.
“What's up, McCuaig?” he said. “Aren't you going up to the Post?”
“No, I guess I ain't goin' up no more,” replied McCuaig slowly.
“What do you mean? You aren't going back home?”
“No. My old shack will do without me for a while, I guess.—Say,” he continued, facing around upon Duff and looking him squarely in the face, “this young chap says”—putting his hand upon Barry's shoulder—“Britain is going to have a hell of a time licking Germany back into her own orbut. Them papers said last night that Canada was going in strong. Do you think she could use a fellow like me?”
A silence fell upon the group of men.
“What! Do you mean it, McCuaig?” said Duff at length.
The man turned his thin, eagle face toward the speaker, a light in his eyes.
“Why, ain't you goin'? Ain't every one goin' that can? If a fellow stood on one side while his country was fightin', where would he live when it's all over? He read out of the papers that them Germans were shootin' women and children. So—” his face began to work, “am I goin' to stand by and ask some one else to make 'em quit? No, by God!”