"You have been a long while, Charley, and I came very near putting a bullet into you just now," he said.
"Well," said Seaforth, "I did my best, and Tom's coming along behind me. What are you doing here anyway?"
Alton glanced at him bewilderedly. "I don't quite know, but I got the deer. It's somewhere around here," said he.
Seaforth's face grew suddenly grave as he stopped and shook his comrade, then let his hand drop as he saw a red trickle spreading across the crusted overalls.
"Good Lord! Are you hurt, Harry, and what's all this?" he said.
Alton glanced up at him with dimming eyes. "The thing's broken out again. I think it's blood," he said, and while his arm slipped from under him, slowly rolled over with his feet in the smoking fern.
CHAPTER XX
THE NICKED BULLET
The grey daylight was creeping into the little tent and Alton sleeping at last when Seaforth rose to his feet. His eyes were heavy with the long night's watch which had followed a twelve hours' march, and he shivered as he went out. The morning was bitterly cold, and a fire burned redly outside the tent, but there was no sign of Okanagan, who had joined him during the night, nor had any preparations for breakfast been made.
"Tom," he twice called softly, but only the moaning of the branches overhead answered him, and with a little gesture of impatience he strode into the bush.