"All right, Master George. Be quiet, dogs," said the hunter, turning back, followed by the two great dogs, the others making up the rear.
The cluster of oaks was soon reached; the wounded man still lay without life; the dogs howled, but, at a sign from Keen-hand, they stood back silent.
George and Samuel alighted, and examined the man.
He was a tall, well made, even elegant man of about thirty or thirty-five; he was deadly pale; his features were well chiselled and delicate; his long, jet black hair fell in waving curls on his shoulders; a black crisp beard hid the lower part of his face; his mouth, large and slightly open, showed magnificent teeth of dazzling whiteness; his strong and aquiline nose gave a terribly hard expression to his face, while his eyes, far too close together, and which were shut, were shaded by long lashes, and crowned by heavy eyebrows that almost touched.
The very sight of the man inspired instinctive repulsion, something like a chill, that sensation of terror and disgust which one feels at the sight of a reptile; still the man was handsome and elegant; he was well dressed, and his weapons were superior; his horse was extremely valuable.
He was, to all appearance, a prince among adventurers.
"Hum!" muttered Samuel Dickson, who was the first to speak; "I don't like his look at all."
"No more do I," said George; "still, we cannot let him die."
"Certainly not, since Providence has sent him here. Are we far from your hut?" replied Samuel.
"Not far off, are we, Charbonneau? But, then, how can we carry him?" continued George; "I don't see anything except a litter."