CHAPTER XVI.
CONCLUSION.
There was no mistaking the voice. It was Hezekiah Smith himself, beyond a doubt. Stooping down so as to obtain a glimpse of his features, the Irishman peered into his face for a moment, and then releasing him, said:
"It's that long-legged chap as was killed, or else I ain't Pat Mulroony!"
"Is it possible that that is you?" asked Waring, placing his hand upon his shoulder, and feeling of his face and arms.
"I've a strong suspicion now that I'm the identical, and precisely the same personage that you took so much pain to kiver up in that same gorge," replied Hezekiah.
"Let us strike a fire, and sit down and have a talk," said Waring. "This is too good fortune, indeed."
Branches and twigs were soon collected, and a fire started. Seating themselves by it, the reunited friends gazed into each other's faces. To the surprise of all, Hezekiah Smith was attired in the dress of a Shawanoe Indian.