The room was untidy. The bed stood at one end, and the tumbled blankets upon it looked as though they had not been straightened for weeks. A small table supported the remains of a frugal meal and the floor about it was littered with food and crumbs. Everywhere were signs of half-breed slovenliness.
For some moments silence had reigned. The North, that Land of Silence, makes men sparing of words, and even women only talk when it is necessary. Just now, there was that between these two men which held every thought to the main issue.
Victor’s attention was for the moment upon a rough-hewn chest which was standing on the floor at the big man’s feet.
“An’ why didn’t she come right along with you?”
“Mebbe cos she’s smarter nor any o’ us; mebbe cos I jest didn’t want her to. There’s somethin’ ’tween you an’ me, Victor, that needs some parley.”
The big man spoke quite calmly, but his very calmness was portentous.
“Smarter?” said Victor contemptuously, ignoring the latter part of the other’s remark.
“That’s what I said,” went on the giant, in dispassionate tones. “Davia reckoned as it wa’n’t jest safe to light right out lest them fellers found they’d been robbed o’ their wad. She’s stayin’ around to put ’em off’n the trail. They’re dead sweet on her an’ ain’t likely to ’spect who’s got the stuff while she’s around.”
Victor nodded approvingly. His face was less angry. He knew Davia would serve him well. A silence fell again. The stove roared under the forced draught of the damper. Then the big man spoke as though he had not broken off.
“But that ain’t on’y the reason, I guess. I wanted her to stay. You an’ me are goin’ to talk, Victor Gagnon.”