“When I’m growed I won’t do a thing I can’t do,” he observed graphically. “If ther’ ain’t pelts wot’s the use chasin’ ’em? You can’t say ther’ ain’t gold till you chased it. I’m goin’ to chase that gold,” he finished up stubbornly.
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway what any of you are going to do in the future,” the Kid said with finality. “Just now we’re kind of up against it, and you’ve all got to help Mum all you know. Isn’t that so, Mum?”
Hesther beamed mildly round on the children, not one of whom she would have been without for all the world.
“I guess that’s so,” she said. “We’re all goin’ to do our best, sure. That’s what God set us to do. You see, kids, the folk who do the best that’s in ’em mostly get the best of life. An’ the best of life don’t always mean a heap of gold, an’ not even a heap of pelts. It mostly means a happy heart, an’ a healthy body. And when you die it ain’t no more uncomfortable or worrying than goin’ to sleep when you’re tired, same as you do most every night when the flies an’ skitters’ll let you. Now if you’re all through we’ll clean up. You boys see an’ pass Mary Justicia the chattels, an’ fix ’em dry after she’s swabbed ’em clean, while I huyk Jane Constance from under the stew that’s missed her mouth. I guess Gladys Anne needs fixing some that way, too. Perse, you get me a bucket o’ water an’ a swab. Maybe I won’t need soap—we ain’t got none to spare.”
CHAPTER IV
WITHIN THE CIRCLE
Bill Wilder was squatting on a boulder under cover of the stone-built fortifications. His rifle was lying in an emplacement overlooking the waterway below. His grey eyes were pre-occupied, searching the red, sandy foreshore across the river, which rose gently, baldly, sloping steadily upwards to the boulder-strewn, serrated skyline beyond.
Chilcoot was seated near by. His rifle lay in another emplacement ready for immediate use. He was chewing in the thoughtful fashion habitual to him, even under the greatest stress. He, too, was searching the far side of the river. His gaze was no less intent. It was the look of a man whose habit has become that of ceaseless watchfulness.
“I wish I hadn’t let him go now.” Wilder spoke without turning. It was almost as though he were thinking aloud. “He’s a crazy sort of hot-head who can’t sit around when ther’s a scrap to be had.”
Chilcoot spat through the loophole with great exactness.