Elliot glanced at the woman behind whose skirts the youngster was
hiding. He smiled and nodded pleasantly to her.
"She's not bad looking if that's what you mean," he said after they had
taken up the trail again.
"You ain't the only white man that has thought that," retorted the old
miner significantly.
"No?" Gordon had learned to let Holt tell things at his leisure. It
usually took less time than to try to hurry him.
"Name of the kid mean anything to you?"
"Can't say it did."
"Hm! Named for his dad. First syllable of each of his names."
The land inspector stopped in his stride and wheeled upon Holt. His eyes
asked eagerly a question. "You don't mean Colby Macdonald?"
"Why don't I?"
"But--Good Lord, he isn't a squawman, is he?"
"Not in the usual meaning of the word. She never cooked and kept house
for him. Just the same, little Colmac is his kid. Couldn't you see it
sticking out all over him? He's the spit'n' image of his dad."
"I see it now you've pointed it out. I was trying to think who he
reminded me of. Of course it was Macdonald."
"Mac met up with Meteetse when he first scouted this country for coal
five years ago. So far's I know he was square enough with the girl.
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