“Hallo!” the first exclaimed, as he glanced from me to my companion, saw the cut-up deer, and took in Gunson’s occupation as it seemed to me in a sharp glance of his clear grey eyes. “I thought I was right. You fired half an hour ago?”
“Yes,” said Gunson, quietly, “and hit.”
“Who are you, stranger, and where are you for?” said the grey-haired man, in a firm, stern tone of voice, while his companion stood back leaning on a rifle too, as if waiting to be told to come up.
“English. Travelling and shooting,” said Gunson, a little distantly.
“And prospecting,” said the new-comer sharply. “Well, have you struck gold?”
“No,” said Gunson. “Have you?”
“No; nor deer either. Not your luck to-day.”
“Sorry for you, brother sportsman,” said Gunson, rather sneeringly, I thought. “Well, where’s your shanty? We shall be glad to share our game.”
“Where are you making for?” said the stranger, looking at me.
“Fort Elk,” I said; and I saw him raise his eyebrows. “Is it very much farther?”