The people in the roofless cabin had slept soundly, after the visit of the wild thing known as the Mountain Devil. Millicent came out, blooming like a mountain rose, and drew from the old trapper a compliment on her personal appearance, which brought new roses to her cheeks. To the surprise of every one, Bentley also appeared.
“You git back to yer nest!” shouted Ben. “Don’t you s’pose I ain’t got no better business than to be a nuss to you? You’ll get a relapse ef you don’t take keer.”
“No fear of that, old man,” said Bentley, addressing the trapper in the free and easy style peculiar to the plains. “Don’t be troubled. I never felt better in my life. That blood-letting, together with the venison you cook, has done me a world of good. I shall punish your provisions tremendously.”
“Waal, as ter that, ye’ve got a rifle of yer own. I reckin ye kin keep yerself in grub. How does ye shoot?”
“Pretty well,” said Bentley. “Nothing to brag of, you know, but enough to swear by.”
“Thet thing tried Jule another hack last night. Ye orter see his face. It looks ez ef a hoss an’ wagin had drew right over it.”
“It is a malicious thing.”
“You bet. It clawed Jule up spiteful, and don’t make no more of a rifle-ball then you or I would of a flea-bite. Must be powerful tough.”
“Powervul!” cried Jan. “Ach, goot cracious! I sees him mineself, unt he vash so pig ash a mountain. I vash scart mit him.”
“You had good reason to be,” said the young man. “Now, boys, let us get to work. You must teach us what to do, Ben.”