It was cheerless. When I say we made a camp it is misleading, for we
could not swing our kettles for fear of the betraying smoke. We sat
down stiffly, for the ground was still wet from the night dew, and we
passed our bags of dried maize and jerked meat from hand to hand. I
made some ado to eat cheerfully, for I saw that the men were surly from
this unnecessary hardship. The western Indians were friendly, and if
we had not had this incubus of an Englishman on our hands we should
have had fire and song, a boiling pot, and roasting maize cakes. There
was no muttering among the men, for I was there, but they looked
glowering, and drew away.

The Englishman ate in silence. I was too ruffled and crossgrained to
talk to him, but I could not keep myself from watching him. His eyes
were less sad than I had thought. I could imagine that they might
easily be merry. But they were watchful eyes. He saw the discontent
among the men, and finally he rose and went to them. I followed him
with some warning in my look, for I thought that he was vexed, and I
knew that his tongue was sharp, but I realized in a moment that his
brain was in control and that he was safe.

"I have brought you all discomfort," he said, with a shake of the head,
and his slow French gave his words more meaning than they perhaps
deserved. "I regret this. It is hard for me to bear, for it is new to
me to be a burden. But what can I do? I cannot go away. I am not
enamored of this voyage, for I do not like being thrust upon your
company, but you saved my life, and I have no right to throw away what
you went to such lengths to preserve. What would you have me do?"

The oafs exchanged glances. They spoke after a minute in a united,
disjointed grumble.

"You don't work."

The Englishman looked at them and at me. I realized that he was
curiously slight and young, and that we seemed hostile. That was
hardly just, and I was ready to go to his rescue. But he turned from
me to the men.

"It is true that I work very badly," he said. "I do not know how. But
men are born of women, and--well, what a man can do I can learn.
Suppose, now, that I go and relieve Pierre at the watch. If you will
show me what to do I think you will find me teachable. I shall try to
be as little of a burden as possible. Here is my hand on it." And he
held out his slim palm for their grasp.

Again they stared; but the hand won them. They touched it fumblingly
and w