"Not always, or how could I be an Irishman? God plaise I may niver live here long enough to forgit owld Ireland, the Gim of the Sea. What's the matter with yees now?"
The trapper having wandered a few yards from the camp-fire, had paused suddenly and stood gazing at the ground. Teddy was obliged to repeat his question.
"What is it yees have diskivered?"
"Sign, or ye may shoot me."
"Sign o' what?"
"Injins, ye wood-head! What else could I mean?"
Teddy now approached and narrowly examined the ground. His knowledge of wood-craft had been considerably increased during the past month or two, and he had no difficulty in distinguishing the imprint of a moccasin.
"Look at the infarnal thing!" exclaimed the trapper, in disgust. "Who'd a thort there'd 've been any of the warmints about, whin we took sich pains with our fire. Why the chap didn't send a piece of cold lead into each of our bread-baskets is more nor I can tell. It would've sarved us both right."
"P'raps thim tracks there was made fornenst the night, and that it's ourselves that was not here first."
"Don't yer s'pose I know all about that?" demanded the trapper, savagely. "Them tracks was made not more'n three or four hours ago."