met
with cash--and I've got all my funds figured down to nickels. If I get
by on this contract, I'll have a few hundred to squander on house
things. Until then, it's the simple life for us. You can camp for three
or four months, can't you, without finding it completely unbearable?"

"Why, of course," she protested. "I wasn't complaining about the way
things are. I merely voiced the idea that it would be nice to fix up a
little cosier, make these rooms look a little homelike. I didn't know
you were practically compelled to live like this as a matter of
economy."

"Well, in a sense, I am," he replied. "And then again, making a place
away out here homelike never struck me as being anything but an
inconsequential detail. I'm not trying to make a home here. I'm after a
bundle of money. A while ago, if you had been here and suggested it, you
could have spent five or six hundred, and I wouldn't have missed it. But
this contract came my way, and gave me a chance to clean up three
thousand dollars clear profit in four months. I grabbed it, and I find
it's some undertaking. I'm dealing with a hard business outfit, hard as
nails. I might get the banks or some capitalist to finance me, because
my timber holdings are worth money. But I'm shy of that. I've noticed
that when a logger starts working on borrowed capital, he generally goes
broke. The financiers generally devise some way to hook him. I prefer to
sail as close to the wind as I can on what little I've got. I can get
this timber out--but it wouldn't look nice, now, would it, for me to be
buying furniture when I'm standing these boys off for their wages till
September?"

"I should have been a man," Miss Estella Benton pensively remarked.
"Then I could put on overalls and make myself useful, instead of being a
drone. There doesn't seem to be anything here I can do. I could keep
house--only you haven't any house to keep, therefore no need of a
housekeeper. Why, who's that?"

Her ear had caught a low, throaty laugh, a woman's laugh, outside. She
looked inquiringly at her brother. His expression remained absent, as of
one concentrated upon his own problems. She repeated the question.

"That? Oh, Katy John, I suppose, or her mother," he answered. "Siwash
bunch camping around the point. The girl does some washing for us now
and then. I suppose she's after Matt for some bread or something."

Stella looked out. At the cookhouse door stood a short, plump-bodied
girl, dark-skin