They found the two guides standing there, and peering out toward a certain quarter. Both were too old hands at this sort of thing to show the least sign of excitement, but Jimmy made up for any lack on their part.
"For the love of Mike where's the invader now? Did he trample all over you, Francois, and is that the brand of his cloven hoof on your hunting shirt now? Was it the same old bull moose, or a new kind of muskeg giant, as big as a church? Show him to me, and see how quick I'll bowl the critter over!"
"Keep still, will you, Jimmy, and let Ned do the talking," advised Jack.
"What did you fire at, Francois?" asked Ned, turning to the guide, for somehow he seemed to naturally guess that it was the French Canadian who had done the shooting, possibly because his voice had been heard raised in a challenge.
"Man, at all I know, sare," replied the other, still looking out into the semi-gloom wistfully.
"I heard you call out loud enough, just as you said you would do," Ned continued; "and instead of answering, did he turn and run away?"
"Zat is just what happen," replied the guide. "He act mooch like ze spy, and so I give heem ze shot."
"Do you think you hit him, Francois?" demanded Frank.
The other rolled up his shoulders, and made the usual "face" as he answered:
"I do not know for sure, sare. Ze light it was mos' uncertain like. I aim down low as I pull ze trigger. Zen he disappear, and I am unable to say if so be he drop down just to sneak avay, or because he wounded."