"Hang it, let the old woman serve! Every man has had one plateful.

Come and talk to me."

All eyes were on Bela. She hesitated, then went and sat as Joe commanded. The other men could scarcely believe their eyes. Bela to take orders in public like this! Her inscrutable exterior gave no indication of what was pa.s.sing within.

There was, perhaps, a hint of pain, anger in her eyes, but hidden so deep they could not see it. The obvious inference was that Joe had won her at last. She went down in their estimation. Every man shrugged, so to speak, and let Joe have his way.

That youth swelled with gratified vanity. He heightened his jocular air; his gallantry had an insolent ring. "Say, we'll pay double if you let us look at you while we eat. You'll save money, too; we won't eat so much. We'll take you for dessert!"

The other men were uneasy. If this was Joe's and Bela's way of making love they wished they would do it in private. They were slow-thinking men, accustomed to taking things at face value. Like all men, they were shy of inquiring too far into an emotional situation.

Bela did not eat, but sat still, silent and walled-up. At such moments she was pure Indian. Long afterward the men recollected the picture she made that night, still and dignified as a death mask.

Joe could not leave Sam alone. "I wonder where our friend the ex-cook is to-night?" he inquired facetiously of the company. "Boiling his own pot at the Point, I suppose. He don't seem to hanker much for the society of men. That's as it should be. Men and cooks don't gee."

Anyone looking closely would have seen Bela's breast rise and fall ominously, but no one looked closely. Her face gave no sign.

"Sam was a little too big for his shoes last night," Joe went on.

"To-day I guess he thinks better----"

"h.e.l.lo! Somebody talking about me?" cried a cheerful voice from the door.

Sixteen men turned their heads as one. They saw Sam by the door smiling. Bela involuntarily jumped up, and the box she was sitting on fell over. Joe, caught up in the middle of a sentence, stared with his mouth open, a comic expression of dismay fixed on his features.

Sam came in. His eyes were shining with excitement.

"What's the matter?" he asked, laughing. "You all look as if you saw a ghost!" To Bela he said: "Don't disturb yourself. I've had my supper.

I just walked up for a bit of sociability before turning in, if you've no objection."

He waited with a significant air for her to speak. There was nothing naive about Sam's light manner; he was on the _qui vive_ for whatever might come.

Bela tried to answer him, and could not. Her iron will was no longer able to hide the evidences of agitation. Her lips were parted and her breath was coming fast. She kept her eyes down.

There was a highly charged silence in the shack. All knew that the turn of the drama depended on the next word to be spoken. They watched Bela, bright-eyed.

By this time Joe had partly recovered his self-possession. "Let him go!" he said roughly. "We don't want no cooks around!"

Sam ignored him. "Can I stay?" he asked Bela, smiling with a peculiar hardness. "If you don't want me, all right. But it must come from you."

Bela raised her eyes imploringly to him and let them fall again.

Sam refused to take it for an answer.

"Can I stay?" he asked again.

"Ah, tell him to go before he's thrown out!" cried Joe.

That settled it. Bela's head went up with a jerk, and her eyes flashed savagely at Joe. To Sam she said clearly: "Come in, my house is open to all."

"Thanks," said Sam.

Bela glared at Joe, defying him to do his worst. Joe refused her challenge. His eyes bolted. He scowled and muttered under his breath.

Sam, taking in the situation, walked quickly to Bela's place, and picking up the box sat on it, and smiled directly into Joe's discomfited face.

That move won him more than one friend in the shack. Young Coulson's eyes sparkled with admiration. Big Jack frowned at Sam, divided between old resentment and new respect.

Sam quickly followed up his advantage.

"Seems you weren't expecting me this evening," he said quietly. "I wouldn't have missed it for a lot. Heard there was going to be something special doing. How about it, Joe?"

Joe was no match for him at this kind of game. He looked away, muttering.

"What's on, boys?" asked Sam. "Vaudeville or parlour charades?"

He won a hearty laugh by it, and once more Joe felt the situation slipping away from him. Finally he thought of a way of getting back at Sam.

"Bela!" he cried roughly. "You bring another box and sit down here."

Sam stared, genuinely amazed at his tone.

"There is no room," said Bela in a wooden voice.

"You bring over a box!" cried Joe peremptorily.

Sam's face was grim. "My friend, that's no way to speak to a lady," he said softly.

This was the kind of opening Joe wanted. "What the h.e.l.l is it to you?"

he shouted.

"And that's no way to speak to a man!"

"A man, no; but plenty good enough for a--cook!"

At Sam's elbow was a cup with tea-dregs in the bottom. He picked it up with a casual air and tossed the contents into Joe's face.

CHAPTER XXII

MUSCLE AND NERVE

A gasp went around the table. Joe sprang up with a bellow of rage. Sam was already up. He kicked the impeding box away. When Joe rushed him he ran around the other side of the table.

Sam had planned everything out. Above all he wished to avoid a rough and tumble, in which he would stand no chance at all. He had speed, wind, and nerve to pit against a young mountain of muscle.