He jumped at her name, spearing his thumb with the big needle.
“Dunno,” he said, in savage defiance. “Ask Lou. He sees more o’ her than I does.”
Lou drew a new thread through the wax with a rasping squeal.
“Tod’s gone across to pack,” he said. “If you fellows want to keep any of your belongings you’d best overhaul his swag. He was making off with my dungarees———”
“He’s jest torn all ways wi’ excitement,” said Ted Douglas. “Keep an eye on him, Steve, or Purdey’s Camp’ll make him into paper pulp.”
Tod had looked for battle since his petticoat days, and the joy of two fists put up opposite his own was greater to him than the love of woman and home. These are the men who tread out the ways, alone and reckless, that another man may build thereon. He descended on Purdey’s Camp with challenge in his eye and in his shoulder-swing, and not all the long aching hours since sun-up had stiffened the clatter of his tongue.
Purdey met them at the door of his slab hut; read over Scannell’s note, and gave verdict on the instant.
“Can’t possibly get it all out this week,” he said. “We only tapped the spur yesterday. You men will have to put your backs into it. Lou, you’re good at team work. You and
