Sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree near the fire, which now was no more than a bed of coals, he began to eat with that relish which long exercise in the open air always imparts.
At once the entire party was engaged in the same agreeable task. As they ate their conversation was, during a time, of little importance; but when the keen hunger of the leader had been somewhat appeased, he paused long enough between mouthfuls to say:
“I have your names, comrades; but which is which I do not yet know. I wonder if I can pick you out,” and again he ran his keen eye quickly from one to the other. Late laughed.
“My knife ’gainst yours that you can’t tell who I am on the first guess,” he said.
“It would hardly be a fair wager,” was the reply, “for my knife is worth more than yours. But I’ll venture a guess without a bet. You are Latham Wentworth.”
“You’ve seen me somewhere ’fore now,” the crestfallen youth cried when the laughter of his companions had subsided.
“No; but you gave yourself away when you made the bet. I have been told that you are always ready to wager anything you possess, from the shoes on your feet to the cap on your head.”
“I reckon that’s so,” he admitted, joining in the laugh at his expense.
“What is it the good book says ’bout ‘their works do follow them’?” asked Dan at this point. “I guess that is true of the livin’ as well as the dead, Late.”
“A remark that proves you are Daniel Cushing,” was the comment of the newcomer. “You see I am nearly as well acquainted with you, as with Wentworth.”