"Hello, Camillo," greeted the owner of the cabin as he rose to his feet and extended his hand, "Come in and sit down."
Camillo Bill settled himself into a chair: "Well I'll be damned!" he exclaimed under his breath.
Brent rinsed a couple of murky glasses in the water pail, and reached for a bottle that sat among the dirty dishes: "Have a drink," he invited, extending a glass to his visitor.
Camillo Bill poured a taste of liquor into the glass and watched Brent, with shaking hand, slop out a half a tumblerful, and drink it down as one would drink water. He swallowed the liquor and returned the glass to the table.
"Take some more," urged Brent, "I've got another quart under the bunk."
"No thanks," refused the other, curtly, "I heard you was down an' out, but--by God, I wasn't lookin' for this!"
"What's the matter?" asked Brent, flushing beneath his stubby beard, "What do you mean?"
Righteous indignation blazed from Camillo Bill's eyes. "Mean! You know damn well what I mean!" he thundered. "Look around this shack! Look in the lookin' glass up there! You're livin' here worse'n a dog lives! You're worse'n a--a squaw-man!"
Brent rose to his feet, and drew himself proudly erect. Ragged and unshaven as he was, the effect was ludicrous, but Camillo Bill saw nothing of humour as he stared at the wreck of his friend. Brent spoke slowly, measuring his words: "No man--not even you can insult me and get away with it. I'm as good a man as I ever was, and I'll prove it if you'll step outside."
"You couldn't prove nothin' to nobody, noway. Kitty told me you'd gone to hell--but, I didn't know you'd gone on plumb through."
Brent sank weakly into his chair and began to whimper: "I'm as good a man as I ever was," he sniveled.
"Shut up!" Camillo Bill's fist struck the table, "It makes me mad to look at you! You're a hell of a lookin' object. You won't winter through. They'll find you froze some mornin' half ways between here an' some saloon."
"I won't be here when winter comes. I'm going to hit the trail when snow flies, with a dog outfit."
"Over beyond the Mackenzie. Over in the Coppermine River country. There's gold over there, and there aren't a million _chechakos_ gouging for it."
Camillo Bill roared with laughter: "Over beyond the Mackenzie! Picked you out the roughest an' the furtherest place to go there is. An' nuthin' there when you get there--only you'd never get there. You ain't got the strength nor the guts to cross Indian River--let alone the Mackenzie. An' besides, where do you aim to get your outfit?"