The boy stood for a moment a little overwhelmed by the easy, friendly manner of the stranger. And in his confusion at his impulsive assertion of authority over the Indian he resorted to the only thing his wit suggested. He took refuge in a swift withdrawal.
“Thank you, sir,” he said lamely. “I guess we’ll get right on home. You see, we’re just in off a summer trail.” He turned away and looked squarely into the Indian’s face. “We’ll beat it home, Usak,” he said shortly.
They watched the shadowy figures in silence as they passed down the river bank and were swallowed up by the shadows of the chilly night.
Red Mike turned and grinned at his companions through the haze of smoke.
“That boy’s chock full of real sand,” he said with appreciation.
Chilcoot rubbed his gnarled hands.
“I’d sooner be up against the worst Euralian ever bred than that darn redskin,” he said meditatively.
Wilder nodded and extended his hands over the fire.
“Yes,” he said, regarding the fire with serious eyes. “Or a whole darn legion of ’em.”