“Dick Lewis and old Bob Kelly,” replied Frank, mentioning the names of the guides, with the hope that some of his new acquaintances might know them; nor was the hope a vain one, for the trappers repeated the names, and again exchanged those sly glances, which Frank noticed but could not understand:
“So ole Bob is yer comp’ny,” said his questioner, at length; “an’ ye’re sartin ye left him at the ole bar’s hole! Then, ye won’t be likely to set eyes on him to-night, ’cause the bar’s hole ar’ a good fifty mile from here, an’, if ye’re actooally an’ sartinly lost, ye aint no ways likely to find it in the dark.”
The trapper was evidently forgetting his fears and recovering his good nature—if he possessed that quality—for, as he resumed his seat at the fire, he continued, in a somewhat milder tone:
“If yer hoss war stampeded, stranger, he must be powerful lively on his legs to have tuk ye so fur; but, I reckon, ye must be travelin’ a leetle out of yer latitude. It aint often that a feller meets a teetotal stranger in these parts what says he’s lost, an’ we don’t like to take in every one as comes along; but, if so be that ye are a friend of Dick an’ ole Bob, ye can hobble yer hoss an’ camp here with us. Ye can sleep by our fire to-night, an’ in the mornin’ we’ll set yer on the right track.”
Frank gladly complied with this invitation, and, after relieving his horse of the saddle, he seated himself at the fire, and began to make a close examination of his new acquaintances. They were all large, muscular men, and were dressed in complete suits of buckskin, which were very ragged and dirty. Their faces were almost covered with thick, bushy whiskers, and their hair, which, judging by its tangled appearance, had never been made acquainted with a comb, hung down to their shoulders. The man who had acted the part of spokesman, was particularly noticeable, being more ragged and dirty than his companions, and his face, which bore several ugly scars, was almost as black as a negro’s.
In short, they were a very ferocious looking set, and Frank almost wished he had remained on the prairie instead of coming to their camp. But, after all, he might be very much mistaken in his men. It was not to be expected that persons of their calling, who had no doubt lived on the prairie from boyhood, who had been exposed to all kinds of weather, and braved innumerable dangers, it could not be expected that such men should always present a neat appearance. Beneath their rough exterior there might be hidden the warmest of hearts. And as for their reception of him, they had doubtless treated him as they treated every stranger they met on the prairie—on the principle, “Believe every man an enemy, until he proves himself otherwise.”
While these thoughts were passing through Frank’s mind, the trappers had been regarding him closely and with evident curiosity.
The result of their examination appeared to be satisfactory, for the spokesman presently remarked:
“It’s plain, stranger, that yer out of yer callin’. Ye don’t b’long on the prairy. Yer from the States, we take it.”
Frank replied that he was, and then proceeded to give the trappers an account of the circumstances that had brought him to the prairie, and also told how he had made the acquaintance of Dick and old Bob; to all of which the men listened eagerly, now and then exchanging the same sly glances that Frank had before noticed. When he had finished his story, the swarthy trapper arose to his feet, and, going to a tree close by, took down a piece of buffalo meat, from which he cut several slices that he placed on the coals, remarking as he did so: