“Ah, good morning,” greeted Mr. Preuss, his tow hair upright as usual, his German features red. “Du hast sehr wohl geschlept; what? Well, they have gone and left you.”
“Who?” stammered Oliver, blinking about.
“Kit and your party; Maxwell and the others, too.”
“The lieutenant?”
“No. We stay.”
“Oui; we stay. Maybe we try again,” added Auguste.
At the moment Lieutenant Frémont strode around a rock; he and Basil Lajeunesse and Joseph Descoteaux and Clément Lambert had been down to look after the mules.
“Hello, my boy,” spoke the lieutenant, with cheery smile. “Kit and your crowd have gone; they went at day-break, as arranged last night, for the mule camp; but we thought we’d let you sleep.”
“Thank you, sir,” stammered Oliver, striving to collect his memories. “I was to go, too. I didn’t mean to sleep over. Can’t I catch them?”
“You can stay with us, if you like. We’ll follow, during the day.”