"
Aggressively sleek and scrubbed, the little group marched down through
the woods in the twilight. At headquarters Amy Thorne and her brother
welcomed them and ushered them into the big room, with the stone
fireplace. In this latter a fire of shake-bolts leaped and roared. The
men crowded in, a trifle bashfully, found boxes and home-made chairs,
and perched about talking occasionally in very low tones to the nearest
neighbour. Amy sat in a rocking chair by the table lamp, sewing on
something, paying little attention to the rangers, save to throw out an
occasional random remark. Thorne had not yet entered. Finally Amy
dropped the sewing in her lap.
"You're all as solemn as a camp-meeting," she told them severely. "How
many times must I tell you to smoke up and be agreeable? Here, Mr. Ware,
set them a good example."
She pushed a cigar box toward the older man. Bob saw it to be half full
of the fine-flaked tobacco so much used in the West. Thus encouraged,
Ware rolled himself a cigarette. Others followed suit. Still others
produced and filled black old pipes. A formidable haze eddied through
the apartment.
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