“We gotta thank you,” said one of the men quite humbly, “fer gettin’ us out of that river. Yuh saved our lives all right, but our grub-stake an’ ever’thing we had is gone.”
“Yes,” he resumed mournfully. “Gone! It’s Bill’s fault.”
“I think,” said the man in the wretched uniform, “that it was partly my fault. I startled him. I shouldn’t have cried out to you. It drew his attention and for a moment he must have forgotten to steer.”
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The maligned and unfortunate person referred to as “Bill,” drew himself up to a proud height and grunted his disdain. Then he turned his back haughtily upon his partner and addressed himself to the man in the uniform.
“Thomas here,” he declared deprecatingly, jerking one thumb over his shoulder, “ain’t allers responsible fer what he says. I wasn’t the only one that’s been a steerin’ o’ that boat. He was a helpin’ too. An’ he kep’ puttin’ me off, Thomas did, with his jabbin’ here an’ there in the water, like the crazy fool what he is.”
“No such thing,” remonstrated Thomas. “Did yuh tell the officer what yuh done yisterday? I ’spose that wuz all my fault too—you runnin’ aground.”
Bill wheeled about so swiftly that his dripping garments sprayed water in every direction. For a moment even the fire sputtered.
“A lie!” shouted the now infuriated Bill. “I wuz asleep in the boat an’——”
He paused for breath.
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“Asleep when yuh wuz supposed to be on duty,” his partner completed the sentence for him. “That’s the trouble with you, Bill. You don’t pay no ’tention to nothin’. Yuh don’t use your brains; yuh don’t look; yuh don’t listen. Yuh go ’round dreamin’, with your head up in the air an’ your intelligence in the seat o’ your pants. An’,” Thomas completed his lecture defiantly, “I won’t take that back neither.”
The conversation had reached a critical, dangerous stage, and the man in the frayed uniform thought it wise to intervene.
“If you’ll pardon me, gentlemen, I believe I can settle this dispute. I’ve been thinking it over, and the more I think about it, the more clearly it appears to me that the responsibility is all mine. It was my shout that startled both of you, that put you off—that caused all the trouble. I’d like to apologize.”
“It wuz a terrible shout,” admitted Thomas.
“Sounded like the howl of a madman,” declared Bill. “But yuh saved our lives an’ that’s somethin’ I won’t forget in a hurry. We’d be down in the bottom of the river now, keepin’ company with our rifles an’ our grub-stake, if it hadn’t been for you.”
The man in the uniform acknowledged the compliment with a somewhat weary smile.
“I’m afraid I saved you from one disaster only to plunge you into another. What are you going to do now?”
“Jus’ what do yuh mean?” asked Bill.
“How will you manage without rifles and supplies?”
Bill shook his head mournfully and turned to his partner.
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“He’s askin’ yuh a question,” he upbraided him, “can’t yuh hear?”
Thomas immediately applied himself to the problem in hand. He stared gloomily at the fire. Suddenly he brightened. He addressed the mounted policeman:
“But you got grub, ain’t yuh? You can sell us a little—enough to take us over to Half-Way House.”
“I’m almost in as bad straits as you are. I have a little flour—five or six pounds. I’ve had trouble too.”
“Five or six pounds o’ flour ain’t very much fer three hungry men like us,” ruminated Bill.
“Worse than nothin’,” said Thomas bitterly. “An’ that’s all yuh got?”
“All. Absolutely all! Found it in a cabin back here in the woods. I’m very sorry, gentlemen.”
Thomas dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand.
“If it can’t be helped—it can’t. I been plenty hungry before this.”
“Me too,” murmured Bill.
An interval of silence, during which three men shivered and shook before the fire—a fire that had commenced to burn itself out. Red, angry embers blinked up at them.
“Your turn to gather more wood,” Bill informed Thomas.
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Thomas scowled at the unpleasant imminence of this chilly duty and spat disgustedly into the lowering flames.
“Yuh better hurry,” implacably his partner spurred him on. “We’ll soon be freezin’ entirely. There ain’t enough heat here to warm a sparrow.”
Thomas grunted out an oath before he departed, purposely bumping against Bill as he lumbered past.
“Yuh can see the sort o’ disposition he’s got,” Bill complained to the policeman. “I been aputtin’ up with this sort o’ thing fer ten years now—ten years this comin’ March since we become partners.”
In spite of the fact that he was shivering, uncomfortable, worried, suffering untold agonies from his feet, the man in the frayed uniform smiled quietly to himself.
“Why don’t you break your partnership?” he suggested.
“Eh—what? What did yuh say, officer? Break up——”
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CHAPTER XVI AN INDIAN WITH BOOTS
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