CHAPTER VI

MISS DERINGHAM MAKES FRIENDS

The Homeric supper was over, and Miss Deringham, who, sitting next to
Alton at the head of the long table, had watched the stalwart axeman
feed with sensations divided between disgust and wonder, was talking to
Seaforth on the verandah, when her father sat by a window of the room
his kinsman called his own. There were survey maps, tassels of oats,
and a great Wapiti head upon the wall, while Alton himself lay almost
full length in a deerhide chair. The window was open wide, and the
vista of lake, pine-shrouded hillside, and snow, framed by its log
casing, steeped in nocturnal harmonies of silver and blue. Out of the
stillness came the scent of balsam, and the sighing of a little breeze
amidst the pines.

Deringham held a good cigar, and there was a cup of coffee beside him,
while he was not wholly sorry that they sat in darkness. He had
realized that Alton of Somasco was by no means a fool, and waited his
questions with some anxiety. The rancher, however, had apparently no
present intention of asking any.

"So they've been wondering when I am coming over," he said
reflectively. "I don't know that I'll come at all." Deringham looked
down at his cigar to cover his astonishment. "But you are an Alton of
Carnaby," he said.