Two or three short saw-cuts of logs formed as many seats, and the only
sign of a bed was a mass of dry leaves, upon which a blanket had been
thrown, in a hollow under the overhanging base of the rock.

Untying the blanket, the woman drew forth three or four rude cooking
utensils, some dried beef and smoked sausages, and two huge round loaves
of bread, and arranged them upon the one or two remaining shelves of the
dresser. Then she seated herself in front of the fire, staring into the
crackling blaze, which she mechanically fed from time to time, muttering
brokenly to herself in the manner of one accustomed to be much alone.

"It was a mean thing, after what I'd said,--my word used to be wuth
somethin', but times seems to ha' changed. If they have, why shouldn't I
change with 'em, as well's anybody else? Well, why need it matter? I've
got a bad name.... No, that'll never do! Stick to what you're about, or
you'll be wuthlesser, even, than they says you are!"

She shook her hard fist, and took another pull at the jug.

"It's well I laid in a good lot o' _that_," she said. "No better company
for a lonesome night, and it'll stop his cussin', I reckon, anyhow. Eh?
What's that?"

From the wood came a short, quick yelp, as from some stray dog. She
rose, slipped out the door, and peered into the darkness, which was full
of gathering snow. After listening a moment, she gave a low whistle. It
was not answered, but a stealthy step presently approached, and a form,
dividing itself from the gloom, stood at her side.

"All right, Deb?"