It was dark before he reached the cabin. His companions had just finished eating their supper, and had not expected his return that night.
“Why, Frank, how are you?” exclaimed Archie, springing to his feet and seizing his cousin’s hand. “I’m glad to see you back safe. What kind of a time did you have?—rather lonesome, I guess. What have you got?” he continued, as one of the cubs, thinking that something unusual was going on, again set up a furious yelping.
“I’ve the skin of the panther that killed the white buck,” answered Frank, “and also a bearskin, and two young cubs.” As he spoke, he drew the cubs from his pocket.
“You keerless feller!” exclaimed Dick, who had not yet spoken; “I know’d you’d be in some scrape or other.”
“So did I,” chimed in Harry, “and that’s the reason why I wouldn’t go with him. It’s a wonder you ain’t all clawed to pieces.”
“Hain’t had any supper yet I reckon?” said the trapper. “Come an’ set down here, an’ tell us all about it.”
Frank was quickly relieved of his gun and overcoat, while a plateful of venison, some bread and butter, and a cup of hot coffee were passed over to him. Stretching his feet out toward the fire, he related the details of his adventures, while the trapper sat by, smoking his pipe, apparently deeply interested in his story.