“Best go all the way home with her, if ye ain’t clean tuckered out,” said the old man. “I cal’late it wouldn’t be a bad idee to have a look at this here Jim Conley, for he don’t sound to me like a desirable neighbor nor a valued citizen. You kin size him up while yer restin’, and take yer time on the home-trip. It shapes for a fine night.”
“I’ll do that,” said Young Dan.
CHAPTER IV
THE MAN IN THE BUNK
The sun was on the edge of the western hills when he got back to Mrs. Conley. She expressed relief at seeing him and wonder at seeing him so soon. He built up the fire, melted snow and made tea. He also fried a little bacon and bread. Between them they emptied tea-kettle and frying-pan; and the woman was greatly revived by the food and drink.
The woman led the way northward and westward to her home. The distance struck Young Dan as being nearer seven miles than five. The small window of the cabin glowed a dim yellow. Mrs. Conley pushed open the door and entered without waiting to remove her snowshoes. Young Dan kicked off his snowshoes and had a foot on the threshold when he heard an unpleasant voice shout from somewhere within, demanding to know where the woman had been and why she had stayed away so long and why she hadn’t brought some food home with her. A few oaths gave color to the questions.
Young Dan crossed the threshold, kicked the door shut with a heel and lowered his pack to the floor. In one comprehensive glance he saw the woman stooped to two clinging children, a man lying in a bunk, a failing fire on a rough hearth, a smoky lantern on a table and a worn bear-skin on the floor. He had never seen a less cheering interior.
The man in the bunk sat up and stared at Young Dan. His shoulders looked very broad in the dim light.
“Who’s thar?” he exclaimed. “Who’s that?”
“Ye needn’t be scart,” said the woman, with a tang of scorn in her voice. “It’s a feller from the camp over on Right Prong. He’s fetched in some grub for us, in the kindness of his heart.”