"Sharp enough—sharp enough," murmured old Norton, as if for something to say.
"Sharp enough to bring some one else to your hospitable abode, Joe," interrupted "Lord" Bill, quietly; "I hear sleigh bells. The wind's howling, but their tone is familiar."
They were all listening now. "Poker" John was the first to speak.
"It's—" and he paused.
Before he could complete his sentence Jacky filled up the missing words.
"Lablache—for a dollar."
There was a moment's silence in that rough homely little kitchen. The expression of the faces of those around the board indexed a general thought.
Lablache, if it were he, would not receive the cordial welcome which had been meted out to the others. Norton broke the silence.
"Dang it! That's what I ses, dang it! You'll pardon me, ladies, but my feelings get the better of me at times. I don't like him. Lablache—I hates him," and he strode out of the room, his old face aflame with annoyance, to discharge the hospitable duties of the prairie.
As the door closed behind him Dr. Abbot laughed constrainedly.