The little miner looked him over impudently. "Well—well! If it ain't the Big Mogul himself—and wantin' to know if I've got permission to travel off the reservation."
Macdonald laughed tolerantly. He had that large poise which is not disturbed by the sand stings of life.
"I reckon you travel where you want to, Gid,—same as I do."
"Maybeso. I shouldn't wonder if you'd find out quite soon enough what I'm doing here. You never can tell," the old man retorted with a manner that concealed volumes.
Those who were present remembered the words and in the light of what took place later thought them significant.
"Anyhow, it is quite a social event for Kusiak," Macdonald suggested with a smile of irony.
Without more words Holt turned back to his bargaining. The big Scotchman went on his way, remembered that he wanted to see the cashier of the bank which he controlled, and promptly forgot that old Gid existed.
The old man concluded his purchase and drove up to the hotel behind one of the best dog teams in Alaska. He had paid one hundred dollars down and was to settle the balance next day.