Gordon was a stranger in the Yukon country, one not likely to be
over-welcome when it became known what his mission was. It may have been
because he was out of the picture himself that he resented a little the
exclusion of the young woman with the magazine. Certainly she herself
gave no evidence of feeling about it. Her long-lashed eyes looked
dreamily across the river to the glowing hills beyond. Not once did they
turn with any show of interest to the lively party under the awning.
From where he was leaning against the deckhouse Elliot could see only
a fine, chiseled profile shading into a mass of crisp, black hair, but
some quality in the detachment of her personality stimulated gently his
imagination. He wondered who she could be. His work had taken him to
frontier camps before, but he could not place her as a type. The best
he could do was to guess that she might be the daughter of some
territorial official on her way in to join him.
A short, thick-set man who had ridden down on the stage with Elliot to
Pierre's Portage drifted along the deck toward him. He wore the careless
garb of a mining man in a country which looks first to comfort.
"Bound for Kusiak?" he asked, by way of opening conversation.
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