hand to feel the first drops of rain. "The camp is abandoned, anyhow."
"I suppose I'd better go back to Pancake, then."
She eyed the car dubiously.
"Between the machine and its driver, I don't think that's wise."
"Where can I go? I never saw such a God-forsaken—"
"We can take care of you." Then turned and lifted her voice: "Joe? Black Joe?"
A squat and swarthy man appeared from behind the house. He looked at Taylor, at Lucius, and then at the girl with a surly grunt of query.
"Get him out of sight before the children see him," she said. "There's an empty bunk in the shanty?"
"One."
Black Joe spit on his hands.
"Let me help you," said Taylor.
The man, stooped over Lucius, looked at him closely and slowly, from head to foot; he said nothing, but in the glance was contempt and hostility. He grasped the boy by one arm and ankle, slung him over his shoulder and walked away.
"You'll have to come in here," the girl said, moving toward the steps. "The men's shanty is crowded, and anyhow you'll—probably be better off here."
She added that last after a look which covered him as thoroughly as had the contemptuous stare of Black Joe, and her manner was as though she took upon herself dutifully the protection of an unwelcome child. It was a challenge to his assurance with women and stung his pride.
"Thanks, but you needn't bother," he said sharply.
