“By Jove! Jim Bothwell!” cried the new arrival in a gratified tone. “Upon my word, I’m glad to see you. But what brings you here?”
As he spoke, he gazed with some curiosity about the camp and at the youthful faces of the young adventurers.
“Sort of piloting these lads and Professor Wintergreen through the Rockies, Harry,” was the rejoinder. “Where are you mushing along to?”
“I’m bound for Muskeg Lake,” was the response, “just coming through from Fort Grainger.”
“Won’t you rest here a while?” asked the professor.
“Don’t mind if I do,” said the big trooper. “The goin’s been rough and both I and Dandy here”—he patted his horse—“are a bit fagged, don’t you know.”
“Sit down and have a bite to eat,” said Jim hospitably. “I guess Dandy can shift for himself all right.”
The trooper unsaddled his mount and was soon seated in the shade of a big tree, his back against its trunk, while he dispatched with gusto the food Jim placed before him. When he had finished, he and Jim lit their pipes and began to talk, while the boys and the professor listened interestedly. The man was a new type to them. Self-reliant, big-limbed, clear-eyed, and active as a cat in all his movements, he appeared a fit person for the hard and often dangerous work of the famous Northwest Mounted.
He and Jim, it seemed, were old friends, the veteran guide having aided him in the years past to corner and make prisoners of a band of cattle rustlers. Jim told him about their experiences at the outlaw ranch and the trooper promised to report the matter to his superior officers at once.