“Go ahead, stranger!” cried Boone, cautiously; “you don’t say much, but you work well.”
A moment more and the bonds that bound Boone’s arms loosened. The tension gone, the stout deer-skin severed by the keen-edged steel, and the arms of the hunter were free.
With a grunt of relief, Boone stretched his arms in the air. Confined as they had been, the sensation of freedom was a pleasant one.
As carelessly the hunter extended his arms in the air, one of his hands touched the arm of the stranger. Again a cold shiver came over Boone.
“By hookey!” he muttered, to himself; “either your hunting-shirt’s made of bear-skin, or else you’ve more hair on your arm than I have on my head. I don’t understand this riffle a bit; but it’s a friend, anyway, whoever he is.”
Then the stranger cut the thongs that bound Boone’s feet.
Again the hand of the stranger touched the hunter, and again it seemed to him as if that hand was armed with the claws of an animal.
“I wish the derned critter would say something,” muttered Boone, slightly uneasy. “If he wasn’t acting so much like a human I should think that it was a pet b’ar that had got hold on me.”
The stranger rose to his feet.
Boone followed his example.