The listeners burst into a simultaneous roar of laughter.
“It’s only a Britisher!” said Noah Webster; and they all rose from their covert and sallied out into the open, to the intense astonishment of the new-comer, whose surprise was evidently mixed with a proportionate amount of alarm, for he clutched his gun more tightly at the sight of them, and stood apparently on the defensive.
Story 1—Chapter VIII.
An Unexpected Coincidence.
“We are friends,” Mr Rawlings said, “some of us your countrymen, if, as I judge by your accent, you are an Englishman. We are working a mine in this neighbourhood. My name is Rawlings, and I am the proprietor of the mine.”
“My name is Wilton—Ernest Wilton,” the stranger said, taking the hand that Mr Rawlings held out. “I am glad indeed to meet with a party of my countrymen. Some little time since I started from Oregon with a prospecting party that was organised to hunt up various openings for the employment of capital in mining, and other speculative enterprises. With this party I crossed the Rocky Mountains, and went about from place to place, until about three days ago, when, while shooting amongst these hills of yours, either I lost them or they lost me, and here I have been wandering about ever since by myself, and would probably have come to grief if I had not met you. By profession I am a mining engineer, but the mine I had come from England to work turned out badly, and I accepted another engagement, thinking to do a little sporting and exploring on my own account before returning to England—nice sport I’ve found it, too!”
Mr Rawlings gave the stranger an earnest invitation to spend a day or two with them down at the creek.
The visitor readily accepted; and the game being lifted and slung on poles, the party started for the camp, Mr Rawlings strolling on with his new acquaintance, and the others following, talking earnestly together.