"I see," commented their hostess, quizzically; then recalling herself, she continued: "I should have made myself known before; I am Miss Malotte."
"Ch—" began the crook, then shut his lips abruptly, darting a shrewd glance at the girl. Emerson saw their eyes meet, and fancied that the woman's smile sat a trifle unnaturally on her lips, while the delicate coloring of her face changed imperceptibly. As the fellow mumbled some acknowledgment, she turned to the younger man, inquiring impersonally:
"I suppose you are bound for the States?"
"Yes; we intend to catch the mail-boat at Katmai. I am taking Fraser along for company; it's hard travelling alone in a strange country. He's a nuisance, but he's rather amusing at times."
"I certainly am," agreed that cheerful person, now fully at his ease.
"I've a bad memory for names!"—he looked queerly at his hostess—"but
I'm very amusing, very!"
"Not 'very,'" corrected Emerson.
Then they talked of the trail, the possibilities of securing supplies, and of hiring a guide. By-and-by the girl rose, and after showing them to a room, she excused herself on the score of having to see to the dinner. When she had withdrawn, "Fingerless" Fraser pursed his thin lips into a noiseless whistle, then observed:
"Well, I'll—be—cussed!"
"Who is she?" asked Emerson, in a low, eager tone. "Do you know?"
"You heard, didn't you? She's Miss Malotte, and she's certainly some considerable lady."