"That's right," he said; "come on and get warm. No use worrying--or
getting cross. I suppose from your civilized, conventional point of
view it's a terrible thing to be out in the woods all night alone with
a strange man. But I'm not a bear--I won't eat you."
"I'm sorry if I seemed rude," Hazel said penitently; Roaring Bill's
statement was reassuring in its frankness. "I can't help thinking of
the disagreeable side of it. People talk so. I suppose I'll be a nine
days' wonder in Cariboo Meadows."
Bill laughed softly.
"Let them take it out in wondering," he advised. "Cariboo Meadows is a
very small and insignificant portion of the world, anyway."
He went to one of the packs, and came back with a canvas cover, which
he spread on the ground.
"Sit on that," he said. "The earth's always damp in the woods."
Then he stripped the horses of their burdens and tied them out of sight
among the trees. That task finished, he took his ax and rustled a pile
of wood, dragging dead poles up to the fire and chopping them into
short lengths. When finally he laid aside his ax, he busied himself
with gathering grass and leaves and pine needles until he had several
armfuls collected and spread in an even pile to serve as a mattress.
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