Larry rose and stretched his long arms for the pipe on the rude stone chimney.
“Slingerland,” he drawled, “these heah young people need to find out who they are. An’ I reckon we’d do wal to go out an’ smoke an’ talk.”
The trapper came forth from the shadows, and as he filled his pipe his keen, bright gaze shifted from the task to his friends.
“It’s good to see you an’ hyar you,” he said. “I was a youngster once I missed—but thet’s no matter.... Live while you may!... Larry, come with me. I’ve got a trap to set yit.”
Allie flashed a glance at them.
“It’s not so. You never set traps after dark.”
“Wal, child, any excuse is better ‘n none. Neale wouldn’t never git to hyar you say all thet sweet talk as is comin’ to him—if two old fools hung round.”
“Slingerland, I’ve throwed a gun for less ‘n thet,” drawled Larry. “Aboot the fool part I ain’t shore, but I was twenty-five yesterday—an’ I’m sixteen to-day.”
They lit their pipes with red embers scraped from the fire, and with wise nods at Neale and Allie passed out into the dark.
Allie’s eyes were upon Neale, with shy, eloquent intent, and directly the others had departed she changed her seat to one close to Neale; she nestled against his shoulder, her face to the fire.