"Food! Sleep!" he replied to her question.
"You can't stop here," the girl asserted, firmly.
"Oh yes, we can," said Emerson. "You have plenty of room, and there's lots of food"—he indicated the shelves of canned goods.
The squaw, without moving, raised her voice and called: "Constantine!
Constantine!"
A door in the farther shadows opened, and the tall figure of a man emerged, advancing swiftly, his soft soles noiseless beneath him.
"Well, well! It's old Squirrel-Tail," cried Fraser. "Good-evening,
Constantine."
It was the copper-hued native who had rescued them from the river earlier in the day; but although he must have recognized them, his demeanor had no welcome in it. The Indian girl broke into a torrent of excited volubility, unintelligible to the white men.
"You no stop here," said Constantine, finally; and, making toward the outer door, he flung it open, pointing out into the night.
"We've come a long way, and we're tired," Emerson argued, pacifically.
"We'll pay you well."
Constantine only replied with added firmness, "No," to which the other retorted with a flash of rising anger, "Yes!"