There was no answer from the silence, only the footsteps still approaching, and Harry looked at me curiously when the miner called again.
“Keep back—tell us who you are before we fire on you!”
Then a hoarse voice reached us: “If you have nothing to eat it won’t matter much if you do. We are three starving men, and past doing anybody an injury.”
“Come forward,” I shouted. “We have food here,” and three figures staggered into the glow of the fire. The foremost seemed familiar, and I could not repress a start when the red blaze leaped up, for Geoffrey Ormond stood before us leaning heavily on a rifle. His face was thin and furrowed, his coat badly rent, and his very attitude spoke of utter weariness.
“Lorimer, by all that’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. “You were not exactly friendly the last time we met. In fact, I almost fancied you wished to ride over me. I hope we’re not intruding, but we’re most confoundedly hungry.”
The last words were unnecessary, for the way the men behind him glanced at the meat showed it plainly enough.
“I must apologize for a fit of temper,” I said, holding out my hand, “but it happened near the settlements, and old quarrels don’t hold up here. We have food to give you, and we hope that you will consider yourselves welcome.”
They certainly did so, for more bear steaks were laid on the embers, and while one of the newcomers, stripping a cartridge, rubbed powder grains into the flesh another produced a few of the fern roots which in times of scarcity 269 the Siwash Indians eat. When at last they had finished, one of the party, pushing back his fur cap, turned to me.
“You ought to remember me, Lorimer,” he said.
“Of course I do, Calvert. Didn’t you hire my horses, once?” I replied. “You must take my meaning the right way when I say that I’m pleased to see you here. But what brought you and the others into this desolation?”