The mother nodded. Then she drew a deep breath.
“He’s queer,” she said. “I reckon he hates Big Bill Wilder.”
The Kid laughed, but it was without mirth.
“He surely does, Mum,” she said with bitter emphasis.
The man was standing just inside the doorway. The pleasant warmth was welcome enough in contrast to the sharp night air outside. But he made no attempt to remove the seal parka which had replaced the thick pea-jacket he usually wore.
“No,” he said with a laugh, in response to the mother’s urging to “sit around” while she prepared the supper. “Guess I’m not eating with you dear folk to-night.” His gaze sought the shyly smiling eyes of the Kid. “There aren’t enough of those trout to make a right feed for the bunch. And, anyway, Chilcoot and I are making a party to ourselves.”
He turned to the mother who was at the stove, about to shake down the ashes and fire-up for the preparation of the evening meal.
“We’d have fancied askin’ you all, the whole bunch, to come right along up and eat with us. But I guess the kiddies need to make their blankets early, and anyway our camp fixings aren’t unlimited. So we reckoned to ask you, mam, and the Kid, here, and say one of the boys. That ’ud leave Mary and the other standing guard over the bunch of mischief you leave behind to see they don’t choke themselves. And there’s always the great Usak to see no harm comes to them. Do you feel like making the trip? Chilcoot’s waiting around at the landing, and ther’s two canoes to take us up.”
“Say, if that ain’t real mean.”