"You still blame me?"
"No; but we've chosen. Whatever comes, we'll stay." She turned toward the rough log shanty unemotionally.
"Come, let's forget it. Dinner's waiting and baby's hungry."
A moment Rowland hesitated, then he, too, followed.
"Yes, let's forget it," he echoed slowly.
"Well, in Heaven's name!" Rowland's great bulk was upon its feet, one hand upon the ever-ready revolver at his hip, the dishes on the rough pine dining table clattering with the suddenness of his withdrawal. "Who are you, man, and what's the trouble? Speak up—"
The dishevelled intruder within the narrow doorway glanced about the interior of the single room with bloodshot eyes.
His great mouth was a bit open and his swollen tongue all but protruded.
"Water!" The word was scarce above a whisper.