Half an hour later Dane was speeding toward the settlement, carrying a choice piece of meat suspended from a stout stick across his right shoulder. He surprised Mammy in the act of preparing the fire for breakfast as he approached with noiseless steps, and held the meat before her.
"Oh, Lo'd, how yo' did scare me!" she exclaimed, straightening herself up, and looking at the young man. "I'se as weak as a chicken, an' my bref's almos' gone. I was sure yo' was an Injun or a tager jumpin' at me."
Dane smiled as he laid the meat upon a log, and drew forth his sharp sheath knife.
"I am sorry I frightened you," he apologised. "But a piece of this will give you new strength. You get the frying-pan ready while I carve a few slices. I am going to help you get breakfast this morning. We will give the Colonel and Miss Sterling a great surprise."
And surprised father and daughter certainly were when at length they came out of the house and saw the nicely-browned slices of steak lying in the frying-pan.
"So this is what you have been up to, young man," the Colonel smilingly remarked. "I understand now why you refused to remain here last night. Is this moose or deer steak?"
"Moose, and there is plenty more where this came from. I am astounded that you have not been feasting upon game before this, as the forest is full of birds and animals."
"I am afraid that we are poor hunters," the Colonel replied. "I, at any rate, know very little about woodland ways."
"Then I shall teach you," Dane declared. "But first of all, I want you to try this steak. Then we must get the men to go with me to bring in that moose. It will not do to leave it long out there. If we do, the bears and other animals will soon finish it."
Jean said very little during breakfast, leaving her father and Dane to do most of the talking. But her heart was happy and light. To her this visitor was more than an ordinary man. She was of an impressionable nature, and naturally surrounded Dane Norwood with the glamour of romance. His buoyant, free-from-care manner, and the roving life he led thrilled and enthralled her very soul. To her he was the living embodiment of valiant knights and princes who figured in tales she had heard and read, especially those of the Arthurian Legends. Malory's "Morte d'Arthur," notwithstanding its quaint language and quainter pictures, had so enkindled her mind that she herself at times had seemed the heroine in many a stirring scene. It was largely due to these impressions that she relished the life in the wilderness, and looked upon the King's courier as a hero of more than ordinary mettle.