"Oh, I have my troubles—like most of us, I guess. But just for the moment it's Davy Marsh is kinder stickin' in my crop."
The other started, almost upsetting the flask which stood on the log beside him.
"What's the matter with Davy?" he asked.
"I saw him this mornin', yonder at his camp on the Teakettle," replied the trapper. "We had an argyment about guidin', a month or two ago—only a word or two—an' he holds it against me. He was loadin' his canoe, for Dan's River, when I sighted him. I sung out to him, friendly as you please—and he didn't much more than answer me. Well, I've always put up with Davy, because he can't help his manners, I guess, so I kep' right along and helped him trim his canoe and get away downstream. But he was sulky as a b'ar with a bee in his ear all the time, and kep' lookin' at me as if I was dangerous. He was darn uncivil—an' that's a thing I can't stand. I've bin sorter chewin' on it, ever since."
"Cheer up, Dick," returned Rayton, and laughed heartily. "You mustn't let Davy Marsh's bad manners hump you. Take a drink and forget it." He offered the flask.
Goodine shook his head. "I guess not, thank'e all the same," he said. "I know your liquor is good. I've drunk it before, and there's no man in the country I'd sooner take a smile with than you, Mr. Rayton; but I'm leavin' the stuff alone, now."
"Right you are, Dick," replied the other, returning the flask to his pocket without quenching his own thirst.
"You see," said the trapper, "it makes a beast of me. If I got a taste of it, now, I'd go out to the settlement and get some more, and keep at it till I was a regular beast. So I reckon I'll cut it out." He looked keenly at the Englishman. "Last time I was cornered," he continued, "she saw me!"
"Ah!" exclaimed Rayton. "Who saw you?"
"Nell Harley—the whitest woman on top the earth! She saw me when I was more like a hog than a man. I was shamed. I'm sick with the shame of it this very minute."