Chapter II. In Which They Break Bread with a Lonely Woman

It was perhaps two hours later that Fraser went to the window for the twentieth time, and, breathing against the pane, cleared a peep-hole, announcing:

"He's gone!"

Emerson, absorbed in a book, made no answer. After his encounter with the householder he had said little, and upon finding this coverless, brown- stained volume--a tattered copy of Don Quixote--he had relapsed into utter silence.

"I say, he's gone!" reiterated the man at the window.

Still no reply was forthcoming, and, seating himself near the stove, Fraser spread his hands before him in the shape of a book, and began whimsically, in a dry monotone, as if reading to himself:

"At which startling news, Mr. Emerson, with his customary vivacity, smiled engagingly, and answered back:

"'Why do you reckon he has departed, Mr. Fraser?"

"'Because he's lost his voice cussing us,' I replied, graciously.

"'Oh no!' exclaimed the genial Mr. Emerson, more for the sake of conversation than argument; 'he has got cold feet!' Evidently unwilling to let the conversation lag, the garrulous Mr. Emerson continued, 'It's a dark night without, and I fear some mischief is afoot.'

"'Yes; but what of yonder beautchous gel?' said I, at which he burst into wild laughter."

Emerson laid down his book.

"What are you muttering about?" he asked.

"I merely remarked that our scandalized Scandalusian has got tired of singin' Won't You Open that Door and Let Me In? and has ducked."

"Where has he gone?"

"I ain't no mind-reader; maybe he's loped off to Seattle after a policeman and a writ of ne plus ultra. Maybe he has gone after a clump of his countrymen--this is herding-season for Swedes."

Without answering, Emerson rose, and, going to the inner door, called through to the squaw:

"Get us a cup of coffee."

"Coffee!" interjected Fraser; "why not have a real feed? I'm hungry enough to eat anything except salt-risin' bread and Roquefort cheese."

"No," said the other; "I don't want to cause any more trouble than necessary."

"Well, there's a lot of grub in the cache. Let's load up the sled."

"I'm hardly a thief."

"Oh, but--"

"No!"

"Fingerless" Fraser fell back into sour silence.

When the slatternly woman had slunk forth and was busied at the stove, Emerson observed, musingly:

"I wonder what possessed that fellow to act as he did."

"He said he had orders," Fraser offered. "If I had a warm cabin, a lot of grub--and a squaw--I'd like to see somebody give me orders."

Their clothing was dry now, and they proceeded to