There was a small soft-coal stove in one corner, and in silence the Indian threw in fresh fuel.  The lantern hanging opposite was burning low, and, turning it higher, he shifted the tin reflector so that the light would play on the scene of operations.  Leaving the tent for a moment, he returned with a young grouse, and, dressing it skilfully, put it in a skillet to fry.  From the chest where he had been sitting he produced a couple of cold boiled potatoes and sliced them into the opposite side of the same pan.  He did not hurry, he rather seemed to be dawdling; yet almost before the observer awoke to the fact that supper was under preparation a tiny folding table with a turkey red cloth was set, the odour of coffee—­cheap coffee, yet surprisingly fragrant—­was in the air, and the bird and potatoes were temptingly brown.  It was almost uncanny the way this man accomplished things.  Landor himself never ceased to marvel.  How always seemed unconscious of what he was doing, seemed always thinking of something else; yet he never wasted a motion, and when the necessity arose the thing required was done.  It was so in small things.  It was identical in large.

Up to this time, since that first perfunctory greeting not a word had been spoken.  Now, the meal complete, its maker halted hospitably.

“Better join me,” he invited simply.  “You must have had an early supper.  I noticed the kitchen was dark at the house.”

“Yes.  I’m not hungry, though.”  The big man sank lower into his seat wearily.  “I’m not feeling very well to-night.”

In silence the younger man sat down to eat alone.  He did not press his invitation, he did not express sympathy at the other’s admission.  Either would have been superfluous.  Instead he ate with the hearty appetite of a healthy human, and thereafter, swiftly and methodically as he had prepared the meal, cleared the table and put all in order.  Then at last, the fire replenished and a couple of long-haired buffalo robes thrown within the radius of its heat, he stretched full length thereon in the perfect contentment of one whose labor for the day is done, and awaited the something he knew had brought the other to him at this unusual hour.  “There’s a pipe and tobacco in the drawer of the little table at your right,” he assisted.

Landor roused with a trace of surprise.

“I didn’t know you ever smoked,” he commented.

“I don’t,” simply.  Again there was no suggestion of the superfluous, the obvious explanation.

Nervously, almost jerkily, Landor filled the brier bowl and pressed the brown flakes tight with his little finger.  The match he lit crackled explosively, and he started at the unexpected sound as one whose nerves were on edge.  The pipe aglow, he still sat for a moment puffing hard.

“How,” he initiated then abruptly, “I wish you would do me a favour.  Will you promise me?”

The younger man did not hesitate, did not question.  “If in my power, yes, sir,” he said.