"Oh, but—"
"No!"
"Fingerless" Fraser fell back into sour silence.
When the slatternly woman had slunk forth and was busied at the stove,
Emerson observed, musingly:
"I wonder what possessed that fellow to act as he did."
"He said he had orders," Fraser offered. "If I had a warm cabin, a lot of grub—and a squaw—I'd like to see somebody give me orders."
Their clothing was dry now, and they proceeded to dress leisurely. As Emerson roped up the sleeping-bags, Fraser suddenly suspended operations on his attire, and asked, querulously:
"What's the matter? We ain't goin' to move, are we?"
"Yes. We'll make for one of the other canneries," answered Emerson, without looking up.
"But I've got sore feet," complained the adventurer.