“Good evening, friends,” was the salutation, before the party had time to recover from their surprise and indignation.
“Good evening,” returned Inwood, who could not be rude, even when under such great provocation.
“Like to know what you want?” demanded Jim, as he seated himself upon the saddles, and defiantly looked at the new-comer.
“Me?” grinned the other, as he also seated himself as coolly as if he were an invited guest, “I can’t say that I want anything in particular. Happened to catch sight of your fire a little while ago, and I came down to see who you might be. Rather like your appearance.”
“We’re a company journeying alone,” said George Inwood, “and, wishing you good speed, you will let us say that we prefer to remain alone, and therefore ask you to pass on.”
This was rather a palpable hint, but there seemed no disposition upon the part of the stranger to act upon it. He sat still a few moments, and then also produced a pipe, which he lit with an ember from the fire.
“My name is Muffins,” said he, “and, as I told you a few minutes ago, I’m a hunter in this neighborhood. It isn’t often that I see a white man, and when I do, I must stick to him and enjoy his society all I can. So, of course, I couldn’t think of leaving you just yet.”
It occurred to George Inwood that he had not only been discourteous, but had overdone matters altogether in manifesting such a prompt anxiety to get rid of Muffins, and he now attempted an impossible thing, namely, to undo his mistake.
“Are you alone?” he inquired.