Anybody could figure on that by the look of you and the way you use
your hands. A city man takes holds of things as if they were going to
hurt him. That's kind of why I froze on to you."

Nasmyth took this as a compliment, and smiled his acknowledgment, for
George was a privileged person, and most of his recent companions held
democratic views. He, however, said nothing, and George went on
again.

"Mrs. Acton's a mighty smart woman, but she plays some fool tricks,"
he commented. "Where's the blame use in taking a boatload of folks
after trout when none of them but the boss knows how to fish?" Then he
chuckled. "You'd have gone with the rest this morning if she wanted
you to. Guess the gig would have carried another one quite nicely."

Nasmyth fancied that this was possible, though he naturally would not
admit it to his companion. The fact that his hostess had somewhat
cleverly contrived to leave him behind had its significance, since it
seemed to indicate that she recognized that Miss Hamilton regarded him
with a certain amount of favour.

"Well," said George reflectively, "the boss is quite smart, too! Mrs.
Acton crowded you out of the gig. The boss says nothing, but he knocks
off that blame Martial. That makes the thing even, and, unless he
does it, none of them gets any fish. Now, it kind of seems to me that
for a girl like Miss Hamilton to look at a man like Martial is a
throwing of herself away. I guess it strikes you like that, too?"

This was rather too pointed a question for Nasmyth to answer, but, so
far as it went, he could readily have agreed with the skipper. As a
matter of fact it suggested the query why he should object to Miss
Hamilton throwing herself away.

"Well," he observed, "I'm not quite sure that it's any concern of
mine."

George's grin was expressive of good-natured toleration. "Oh!" he
replied, "I guess that's plain enough for me. You're not going to talk
about the boss's friends. Still, one man's as good as another in this
country, and, if I wasn't way better than Martial, I'd drown myself.
That's the kind of pernicious insect a decent man has no use for.
What's he come on board for with three bags ram full of clothes, when
many a better man humps his outfit up and down the Bush in an old
blanket same as you have done? It's a sure thing that no man with a
conscience wants to get into the land agency business. It's an
institution for selling greensuckers ranching land that's rock and