Jim threw off his blankets and stood erect; he evidently had no lingering prejudice in favour of cleanliness, indeed he had gradually discarded each unessential labour, conserving himself for the hardship of the trail. He did not even go down to the stream as the other had done; he merely put on his hat, and his toilet was complete. His companion took stock of the omission.
“I notice that it ain't your day to wash,” he drawled.
“It ain't,” said the other shortly.
“I reckon it's a mortifying oversight to that pink skin of yours, Mr. Orphan. I'd rather fancy having you tuck along sweet and clean myself; but your habits is your own—”
“You bet they are.”
His friend surveyed him with a mild jocularity of mien.
“Well, they don't brag none for you, but I reckon maybe you're figuring on taking all of this heah God-forsaken country you can right along with you into California. I certainly am glad it suits you.”
Jim ignored this, and they ate their breakfast in silence.
“You ain't saying much,” observed Jim, as if this was an unwonted occurrence.
“Can't you wait until I thaw out?” demanded his friend with some asperity. “I like to froze last night; give me time; opinions will come to me right lively when the sun crawls up yonder above them rocks.”