"I'd have thrashed you to a jelly. I always over-exert myself when I lose my temper."
For a minute or so the Blackguard watched a gaily-striped squirrel, a "chipmunk," which was playing with some nut-shells by the forge. "Cheep," said La Mancha, with a queer click of the tongue.
"Cheep," responded the animal, still busy.
"Cheep," said La Mancha again, whereupon the dainty little beast sat on end, with furry tail coiled Up its furry back, and looked from one to the other to see which spoke.
"Cheep," said La Mancha, at which the chipmunk glanced derisively at the Englishman's riding-breeches, then ran up the big man's boot and perched on his knee.
"How's the nut business, eh, little man?"
"Cheep, cheep," clicked the chipmunk; then, disdaining any further overtures of friendship, scuttled off to play again with his nut-shells.
Mr. Ramsay sat in high dudgeon, brooding over his wrongs, much to the Blackguard's amusement as he smoked peacefully until the prospectors should be ready to knock off work at the dinner-hour. The clang of the sledge-hammer had ceased, a willowy man in long boots and a muddy complexion crossed from the tunnel to the cabin, the dinner smoke began to float up from the chimney, from within the tunnel came a sound of tapping, then thumping, then silence.
"Tamping in the charges," muttered La Mancha; "there'll be blasting soon. Cheer up, Charlie; Long Leslie saw us when he went to the cabin, or he wouldn't have made a dinner fire on a hot day like this."
Mr. Ramsay disdained to answer, so La Mancha smoked peacefully, watching the chipmunk at play.