Ambrose was wroth with himself for not playing a better part, but the man affected him with such repugnance he could not bring himself to dissimulate, “Sorry,” he said stiffly.  “You’ll have to make what you can of it.”

Strange got up.  His candid air now had a touch of manly pride.  “Oh, I can take a hint!” he said.  “Hanged if I know what you’ve got against me!”

“Nothing whatever,” said Ambrose.

“I come to you in all friendliness—­”

“Thought you said you stumbled on me,” interrupted Ambrose.

“I mean of course when I saw you here I came in friendliness,” Strange explained with dignity.

“Well, go in friendliness, and no harm done on either side,” said Ambrose coolly.

For a brief instant Strange lost his benignant air.  “I’ve lived north all my life,” he said.  “And I never met with the like.  We have different ideas about hospitality.”

“Very likely,” said Ambrose coolly.  “Good night!”

When his visitor rode away Ambrose turned with relief to his dog.  The sight of Job’s honest ugliness was good to him.

“He’s a cur, Job!” he said strongly.  “A snake in the grass!  An oily scoundrel!  I don’t know how I know it, but I know it!  A square man would have punched me the way I talked to him.”

Job wagged his tail in entire approval of his master’s judgment.  Ambrose turned in, feeling better for having spoken his mind.

Nevertheless, as he lay waiting for sleep it occurred to him that he had been somewhat hasty.  After all, he had nothing to go on.  And, supposing Strange were what he thought him, how foolish he, Ambrose, had been to show his band.

If he had been craftier he might have learned things of value for him to know.  Following this unsatisfactory train of thought, he fell asleep.

CHAPTER XI.

Alexander Selkirk and family.

Again Ambrose was awakened by a furious barking from Job.  It was even earlier than on the preceding morning.  The sun was not up; the river was like a gray ghost.

Ambrose, expecting Tole, looked for a dugout.  There was none in sight.  Job’s agitated barks were addressed in the other direction.

Issuing from his tent, Ambrose beheld a quaint little man squatting on top of the bank like an image.  He had an air of strange patience, as if he had been waiting for hours, and expected to wait.

His brown mask of a face changed not a line at the sight of Ambrose.

“What do you want?” demanded the white man.

“Please, I want spik wit’ you,” the little man softly replied.

“Come down here then,” said Ambrose.

The early caller looked at Job apprehensively.  Ambrose silenced the dog with a command, and the man came slowly down the bank, cringing a little.

The quaintness of aspect was largely due to the fact that he wore a coat and trousers originally designed for a tall, stout man.  Ambrose suspected he had a child to deal with until he saw the wrinkles and the sophisticated eyes.