Without money she
could not even leave the camp. And when she contemplated the daily
treadmill before her, she shuddered.
At least she could go on strike. Her round cheek flushed with the
bitterest anger she had ever known, she sat with eyes burning into the
dark of her sordid room, and vowed that the thirty loggers should die of
slow starvation if they did not eat until she cooked another meal for
them.
CHAPTER IX
JACK FYFE'S CAMP
She was still hot with the spirit of mutiny when morning came, but she
cooked breakfast. It was not in her to act like a petulant child.
Morning also brought a different aspect to things, for Charlie told her
while he helped prepare breakfast that he was going to take his crew and
repay in labor the help Jack Fyfe had given him.
"While we're there, Jack's cook will feed all hands," said he. "And by
the time we're through there, I'll have things fixed so it won't be such
hard going for you here. Do you want to go along to Jack's camp?"
"No," she answered shortly. "I don't. I would much prefer to get away
from this lake altogether, as I told you last night."
"You might as well forget that notion," he said stubbornly. "I've got a
little pride in the matter. I don't want my sister drudging at the only
kind of work she'd be able to earn a living at."
"You're perfectly willing to have me drudge here," she flashed back.
"That's different," he defended. "And it's only temporary. I'll be
making real money before long.
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