“Not a bit, my boy; I only want a wash and another jacket. Ugh! This blood is horrible. But I say, Wilton, you’re a pretty sort of a fellow to keep guard while we slept!”
“Oh, I was on the lookout for Indians. You didn’t say anything about bears. What was this one—a grizzly, Griggs?”
“Didn’t see it, neighbour, but I shouldn’t think it was. Black one or brown one, I should say. Cinnamon, p’r’aps.”
“Why not a grizzly?”
“Because he wouldn’t have taken a shot in him so quietly. He’d be rampaging about here ready to tear us all to pieces.”
“Hadn’t we better try and follow up the brute with the lanthorn?”
“I should say not,” was the reply. “If he’s only wounded he must be lying up savage-like, and as soon as he sees the light he’ll show fight. If he’s badly hurt he may have gone on till he drops, and be nearly dead by now.”
“But we can’t lie down and go to sleep again after this.”
“Well, no, sir,” said Griggs coolly; “it don’t sound tempting.”
“Then you would try and track the brute?”