“Well,” said the stranger gravely, “that was blame unlike Jimmy.  There’s only one man in this country would do that kind of thing, and as he hasn’t a wagon to fit what you’re telling me, it couldn’t he him.”

Miss Deringham had purposed asking who the man in question was, but the driver started his team just then, and an hour later drove them into the sleepy settlement and carried their boxes into Horton’s hotel.  He gravely invited Deringham to drink with him, and appearing mildly astonished went about his business when the latter declined.  Deringham smiled at his daughter.

“There are, as one might expect, men of somewhat different type in this country, but I prefer the first one,” said he.

Miss Deringham also fancied that she did so, though she did not admit it, and that evening was made acquainted with yet another and more different one.  Horton as usual served supper at six o’clock, and all his guests were expected to partake of reasty pork, potatoes, flapjacks, green tea and fruits at the same table.  To this he made no exception, and would not have done so for the premier, and when a small company of axemen and free prospectors filed in Deringham and his daughter took their places amidst the rest.

The room was long and bare, boarded with rough-sawn cedar, and furnished chiefly by the benches that ran down either side of the plain table; but the aromatic smell of the wood was stronger than that of stale tobacco, and the company avoided more than quietly respectful glances at the daintily-dressed Englishwoman.

They were quiet men with grave and steady eyes, and though they ate as if feeding was a serious business, and they had no time to waste, there was nothing in their converse that jarred upon the girl.  Indeed, she saw one break off in a story whose conclusion she fancied might not have pleased her when a comrade glanced at him deprecatingly.  In another ten minutes they filed out again, and Deringham smiled at his daughter.  “What do you think of them?” he said.

The girl laughed.  “Ostriches,” she said.  “Of course, I guess your thoughts.  You were wondering if my kinsman resembles them.  How long do we stay here?”

Deringham glanced at her covertly, and noticed the faint sparkle in her eyes and the scornful set of her lips.  “That depends,” he said, “partly upon our kinsman’s attitude, for if he offered us hospitality we should probably stay a little.  You were also right, my dear, as usual.”

The girl’s pose grew a trifle more rigid, and the fingers of one hand seemed to close vindictively.  “It is grotesque—­almost horrible, isn’t it?” she said.

Her father nodded.  “It might be,” he said.  “Still, as you know, the Carnaby affairs are involved, and there is a possibility of contesting his claim under the somewhat extravagant will.  It is not altogether improbable that I shall find means of persuading him to stay here with his cows and pigs.”