Tom ate his meal slowly, for he did not know what to do after it was finished. He wished he knew how far the nearest settlement was and in what direction.
After he had eaten his fill, he tied the balance of the steaks in a corner of his blanket, for the food must be kept for future use. Then he walked up to the top of the hill for another look around.
Suddenly he caught sight of a man riding swiftly toward him—a heavy-set man, with busky whiskers and a face that was almost black from constant exposure to the elements.
"Hullo, youngster!" cried the man, when he was within hailing distance. "All alone here?"
"I am!" cried Tom, and he felt something of joy to see a human being again.
"What brought you away out here? Hunting?"
"Not exactly, although I did bring down yonder animal," with a jerk of the thumb toward the deer. "I've lost my way."
"Did you, really? That's bad. It's lucky I ran across you.
What's your handle?"
"Tom Rover," answered the youth boldly. "What is yours?"
"Noxton. So you are all alone?"