"Wait a minute, Elliot."
Gordon turned. The old Alaskan was offering a quarter to a little half-naked Indian boy. Shyly the four-year-old came forward, a step at a time, his finger in his mouth. He held out a brown hand for the coin.
"What's your name, kid?" Holt flashed a look at Elliot that warned him to pay attention.
"Colmac," the boy answered bashfully.
His fist closed on the quarter, he turned, and like a startled caribou he fled to a comely young Indian woman standing near the trail.
With gleaming eyes Holt turned to Elliot. "Take a good look at the squaw," he said in a low voice.
Elliot glanced at the woman behind whose skirts the youngster was hiding. He smiled and nodded pleasantly to her.
"She's not bad looking if that's what you mean," he said after they had taken up the trail again.
"You ain't the only white man that has thought that," retorted the old miner significantly.
"No?" Gordon had learned to let Holt tell things at his leisure. It usually took less time than to try to hurry him.