CHAPTER VII BUCKSKIN DAN
"What are ye doin' here, young man?"
The words startled Grey, and caused him to look quickly around. Twice had this man asked that same question, and each time there was a peculiar warning note in his voice.
They had entered a small cabin, and were seated upon rough stools. The place was clean and neat, a striking contrast to the disorderly room they had just left. Two narrow bunks, one above the other, stretched part way across the south end of the room, while on the opposite side, and near the door, stood a small sheet-iron camping stove. Nearby was a rough table of whipsawn boards, over which, fastened to the wall, was a rude cupboard, containing a few iron plates, cups, saucers and knives. On the floor in the centre of the room a large bearskin was spread, while the principal adornments of the walls were snowshoes, rifles and traps, suspended on wooden pegs driven into the logs. Not until the owner of the cabin had started a fire in the stove, for the evening was cool, did he blurt forth his question, "What are ye doin' here, young man?"
"Just travelling," Grey replied.
"Travellin'; jist travellin', are ye? But isn't it rather risky bizness?"
"In what way? What do you mean?"
"Oh, nuthin' much. It only depends upon what yer travellin' fer that makes the difference."