At this startling sound from the grimness of the forest, the lone camper started, seized his rifle, and leaped to his feet.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "Stop, or I'll shoot."
"It's only me," Curly hastened to reply, as he stepped forth, into the circle of light. "Ye wouldn't shoot a friend, would ye, Dan?"
The latter lowered his rifle, and stared with undisguised surprise upon his visitor.
"Well, fer the love of heaven!" he exclaimed, scanning closely the wretched creature who had so unexpectedly appeared. "Where did you drop from? and what has happened?"
"Give me something to eat," Curly gasped, "an' then I'll tell ye. I'm almost dead."
Laying aside his rifle, the other opened a bag nearby and produced several hard-tack biscuits. Like a ravenous beast Curly seized and devoured them.
"More, more," he begged.
"I'm short myself," Dan informed him, as he again thrust his hand into the bag. "There, take them," and he tossed over two more biscuits.
When Curly had eaten the last crumb, he searched into a hole in his jacket and brought forth an old blackened pipe.