"How do you know that?" asked Boyd in surprise.
"I can scarcely tell. Instinct, I suppose. It doesn't sound like the voice of an outlaw, though I don't know how I know that, either. Hark, he's coming much nearer! I've an idea the man's alone."
"In the storm," said the Little Giant, "he's likely to pass by the cavern, same ez ef it wuzn't here."
"But we mustn't let him do that," exclaimed Will. "I tell you it's a friend coming! a man we want! Besides, it's no Indian! It's a white man's voice, and we couldn't let him wander around and perish in a wilderness storm!"
The hunter and the Little Giant glanced at each other.
"A feller that kin talk with hosses an' mules, an' hev the toughest mule eat out o' his hand the fust time he ever saw him may be able to tell more about a voice in the wilderness than we kin," said the Little Giant.
"I don't believe you're wrong," said the hunter with equal conviction.
Will threw aside the bearskin and dashed out. The two men followed, their rifles under their fur coats, where they were protected from the storm. The voice could now be heard very plainly calling, and Boyd and Bent were quite sure also that it was not one of Felton's band. It truly sounded like the voice of an honest man crying aloud in the wilderness.
Will still led the way and, as he approached, he gave a long, clear shout, to which the owner of the voice replied instantly, not a hundred yards away. Then the three pressed forward and they saw the figure of a man, exaggerated and gigantic in the falling snow. Behind him stood three horses, loaded heavily but drooping and apparently almost frozen. He gave a cry of joy when the three drew near, and said:
"I called upon the Lord when all seemed lost, but I did not call in vain."