“Up to the glaciers.”
“When did they leave?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“When do you expect them back?”
“Not for two or three days.”
He seemed to ponder a moment. “You say you’re hurt? Where?”
“My horse slipped and fell on my foot.”
“Wait a minute,” he commanded. “I’ll rustle a candle. I left one here.”
When his form came out of the dark blur behind his candle Alice perceived that he was no ordinary hunter. He was young, alert, and very good-looking, although his face was stern and his mouth bitter. He laid aside his hat as he approached the bunk in which the two women were cowering as mice tremble before a cat. For a full minute he looked down at them, but at last he smiled and said, in a jocular tone:
“You’re sure-enough women, I can see that. You’ll excuse me—but when a man comes back to a shack in the middle of the night in a place like this and finds a couple of women in a bunk he’s likely to think he’s seeing pictures in his sleep.”