"There are always squatters in the woods," she replied indifferently.
"Some of these girls come from Ghost Lake, I suppose."
"Yes; waitresses at the Inn."
"What music is there?"
"Jim Hastings plays a fiddle. I play the melodeon if they need me."
"What do you do when there's a fight?" he asked, with a side glance at her pure profile.
"What do you suppose I do? Fight, too?"
He laughed — mirthlessly — conscious always of his secret pity for this girl.
"Well," he said, "when your father makes enough to quit, he'll take you out of this. It's a vile hole for a young girl——"
"See here," she said, flushing; "you're rather particular for a young man who stuck up a tourist and robbed him of four thousand dollars."