Explore "The Gold Trail" by Harold Bindloss on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The shack was full of smoke when Weston awakened, coughing, and drowsily looked about him. Somebody else was spluttering close by, and in a moment or two he heard Devine relieve himself with a few expletives. Then Weston got up from his lair of spruce twigs fully dressed, for the night was chilly and the shack had only three sides to it, while the men who live in such places not infrequently take off their clothes to work and put them on when they go to bed.
"The wind has evidently dropped, and the smoke's drifting back. I can't stand much more of this," said Weston.