Part 5 (2/2)
Until this night he had had no time to realize how much he missed his little partner, and his thoughts lingered over the long evenings when they talked together in the cabin, and the boy would read aloud from the ill.u.s.trated magazines.
A chair was drawn up beside his, and the man called Joe laid a large hand upon his knee.
”This here Sam Morgan's boy--does he favour Sam?” he asked.
”Like as two bullets--barrin' size,” replied Waseche, without raising his eyes.
”I s'pose you talked it over with the kid 'fore you come away?” Waseche looked up.
”Why, no! I done left a lettah, an' come away while he was sleepin'.”
”D'ye think he'll stand fer that?”
”I reckon he's got to. Course, it'll be kind o' hard on him, fust off, me'be. Same as me. But it's bettah fo' him in the end. Why, his claim's good fo' a million! An' the boys up to Ten Bow, they'll see him through--McDougall, an' Dutch Henry, an' the rest. They-all think as much of the boy as what I do.” The big man at Waseche's side shook his head doubtfully.
”I know'd Sam Morgan well,” he said, fixing the other with his eyes. ”He done me a good turn onct an' he never asked no odds off'en no one. Now, if the kid's jes' like him--s'pose he follers ye?”
”Cain't. He ain't got the dogs to.”
The other smiled and dropped the subject.
”Where ye headin' fer, Waseche?” he asked, after a few moments of silence.
”I aim to make a try fo' the Lillimuit.”
”The Lillimuit!” exclaimed Joe. ”Man, be ye crazy?”
”No. They's gold theh. I seen the nuggets Sven Carlson fetched back two ye'rs ago.”
”Yes! An' where's Sven Carlson now?”
”I don'no.”
”An' no one else don't know, neither. He's dead--that's where he is!
Leastwise, he ain't never be'n heerd from after he started back fer the Lillimuit.”
”Want to go 'long?” asked Waseche, ignoring the other's statement.
”Who? Me! Not on yer life I don't--not to the Lillimuit! Not fer all the gold in the world.”
”Oh, I reckon 'tain't so bad as folks claim.”
”Claim! Folks ain't in no shape to claim! They ain't no one ever come back, 'cept Carlson--an' he was loco, an' went in agin--an' that's the last of Carlson.”
”What ails the country?” asked Waseche.
”They's talk of white Injuns, an' creeks that don't freeze, an'--well, they don't no one really know, but Carlson.” The man shrugged and glanced over his shoulder. ”If I was you, I'd hit the back trail. They's a plenty fer two in the Ten Bow claim an' pardners is pardners.”
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