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Updated: May 10, 2025
Had it been any one but McWha who started it, nothing would have been said; but, as it was, Walley Johnson took alarm on the instant. To his supersensitive watchfulness, McWha was singing that song "jest a purpose to be ugly to the kid." The fact that "the kid" would hardly understand a word of it, did not occur to him.
McWha would reply with a grin, as if proud of having routed the little adventurer so easily. He had discovered that the name "Yaller Top" was an infallible weapon of rebuff, as Rosy-Lilly considered it a term of indignity. To his evil humour there was something amusing in abashing Rosy-Lilly with the title she most disliked.
As a matter of fact, the little ones are not above judging quite as superficially and falsely as their elders. The child looked at her protector's sightless eye, then turned away and sidled over to McWha with one hand coaxingly outstretched. McWha's mouth twisted sourly. Without appearing to see the tiny hand, he deftly evaded it.
Along the middle of the floor, with bedclothes from the bunk heaped awkwardly upon it in the little one's efforts to warm it back to responsive life, sprawled rigidly the lank body of Joe Godding. Red McWha stared for a moment in silence, then stooped, examined the dead man's face, and felt his breast. "Deader'n a herring!" he muttered.
When she saw McWha stretched out upon the bank motionless, with his eyes shut and his white lips half open, she fought savagely to be put down. She ran and flung herself down beside her rescuer, caught his big white face between her tiny hands, and fell to kissing him. Presently McWha opened his eyes, and with a mighty effort rose upon one elbow.
No homely pungency of wood-smoke breathed welcome on the bitter air. The cabin looked startlingly deserted. "Whoa!" commanded McWha, sharply, and glanced round at Johnson with an angry misgiving in his eyes. The teams came to a stop with a shiver of all their bells. Then, upon the sudden stillness, arose the faint sound of a child's voice, crying hopelessly.
"If there's to be any row in this here camp, I'll make it myself, an' don't none o' you boys forgit it!" McWha turned upon him in angry appeal. "You're Boss, Dave Logan, an' what you sez goes, fer's I'm concerned," said he.
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