“Not five English miles,” he said, looking at me fixedly.
“Do you hear that, Gunson?” I cried. “Here, let’s get back and tell Esau.”
“Not alone then?” said the stranger.
“No, sir. I have a companion down by the river, and there is a Chinaman with us.”
“Any more questions?” said Gunson, rather gruffly; “because if not, perhaps you’ll put us on the trail for the nearest cut to the Fort.”
“You can’t do better than go back to the river,” said the stranger. “I’ll set you on your way. Mike, help him carry the deer-meat.”
The man took one of the packages, thrust the barrel of his rifle through the deerskin thongs, and placed it on his shoulder, while the new-comer asked me for my pole, thrust it through the other, and Gunson and I took an end each, for I would not let our guide carry it.
“Where are you from last?” said the stranger.
I waited for Gunson to speak, but as he did not, I said that we had tramped up by the river.
“All the way from the sea, eh?” said the stranger, looking me over as I examined him and thought what a strong, keen, clever-looking man he seemed.