FRANK’S sudden appearance created considerable of a commotion in the camp, for the men sprang to their feet and reached rather hurriedly for their weapons. They were evidently alarmed; and Frank was a good deal surprised thereat, for he had not dreamed that men accustomed to the dangers of the prairie—as these undoubtedly were—could be frightened at the sudden approach of a single bewildered horseman. He, however, rode straight up to the fire, where the men stood with their rifles in their hands, and exclaimed, as he dismounted from his horse:
“Good evening, gentlemen!”
His politeness did not serve to allay the fears of the men, for they regarded him sharply for a moment, and then one of them asked, in a voice that somewhat resembled the growl of an enraged bear:
“What do you want?”
“I am lost,” replied Frank. “My horse was stampeded with a herd of buffaloes, and I am now making the best of my way back to my friends.”
The man slowly surveyed him from head to foot, and then answered, in a tone of voice which showed that he did not believe Frank’s statement:
“Lost! Lost, aint ye? Wal, what in tarnation are ye lost fur? Why don’t ye go whar ye b’long?”
“That’s what I want to do!” replied Frank, who, astonished at the manner in which he was received, and fearful that he would be compelled to pass another night alone on the prairie, did not notice the sly, meaning glances which the men exchanged. “I am trying to find my friends. I left them at the ‘old bear’s hole,’ if you know where that is.”
This statement was received with something like a long breath of relief by the trappers—for such they undoubtedly were—and the spokesman continued:
“Then, ye’re sartin ye’re lost, an’ that ye aint got no friends nigher nor the ole bar’s hole? Who war ye travelin’ with? Who’s yer comp’ny?”