There was a faint twinkle in the speaker's eyes which Alton understood, for Atkinson, who was not an adept at trailing deer, had shot more than a wapiti. Still, he was not the man to allude to the misadventures of his guest.
"He killed it neatly—a good hundred yards, and in the fern," he said.
"Well," said Thorne with a little laugh, "you were with him, and know best. You had, however, a tolerably mixed bag on that occasion?"
Alton checked a smile. "A wapiti, a wood deer—and sundries."
Thorne laughed again. "I wonder if you have forgotten the hog? You see, Atkinson told us one night at mess, and I was inclined to fancy he came near including you in the bag."
Alton's face was suspiciously grave, but his answer strengthened the incipient friendship between the men.
"It is a little difficult for a stranger to distinguish things in the bush."
Thorne nodded. "You had Deringham and Miss Deringham staying with you?"
"Yes," said Alton. "They are connections of mine, and Miss Deringham did a good deal for me when I was sick a little while ago. You knew them in the old country?"
There was, though he strove to suppress it, something in his voice which caused the naval officer to glance at him sharply. "Oh, yes," he said. "I knew them—rather well."