"Looks like," agreed Dud.
The old miner said no more. But his eyes narrowed to shining slits. If
this man had come through Fifty-Mile Swamp he must have started from the
river. That probably meant that he had come from Kusiak. He was a young
man, talking the jargon of a college football player. Without doubt he
was, in the old phrasing of the North, a chechako. His clothing, though
much soiled and torn, had been good. His voice held the inflections of
the cultured world.
Gideon Holt's sly brain moved keenly to the possibility that he could
put a name to this human derelict they had picked up. He began to see
it as more than a possibility, as even a probability, at least as a
fifty-fifty chance. A sardonic grin hovered about the corners of his
grim mouth. It would be a strange freak of irony if Wally Selfridge,
to prevent a meeting between him and the Government land agent, had
sent him a hundred miles into the wilderness to save the life of Gordon
Elliot and so had brought about the meeting that otherwise would never
have taken place.
CHAPTER X
THE RAH-RAH BOY FUNCTIONS
Big Bill grumbled a good deal at the addition to the party. It would be
decidedly awkward if this stranger should become rational and understand
the status of the camp he had joined.
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