"What are you muttering about?" he asked.
"I merely remarked that our scandalized Scandalusian has got tired of singin' Won't You Open that Door and Let Me In? and has ducked."
"Where has he gone?"
"I ain't no mind-reader; maybe he's loped off to Seattle after a policeman and a writ of ne plus ultra. Maybe he has gone after a clump of his countrymen—this is herding-season for Swedes."
Without answering, Emerson rose, and, going to the inner door, called through to the squaw:
"Get us a cup of coffee."
"Coffee!" interjected Fraser; "why not have a real feed? I'm hungry enough to eat anything except salt-risin' bread and Roquefort cheese."
"No," said the other; "I don't want to cause any more trouble than necessary."
"Well, there's a lot of grub in the cache. Let's load up the sled."
"I'm hardly a thief."