"Who's that?" suddenly exclaimed Jack.
Obed and Harry, looking up, saw a forlorn-looking figure approaching them. It was a man of middle age, and emaciated in appearance, looking the image of despair. He tottered rather than walked, from exceeding weakness.
"For Heaven's sake give me something to eat! I am almost famished," he cried.
"Why, certainly, friend," answered Obed, rising and advancing to meet the stranger. "We don't keep a first-class hotel, but you're welcome to what we've got. Are you travellin' alone?"
"Yes, if you call it travelling. I've been dragging myself along for several days, hoping to find somebody that would give me aid."
"Well, you've found somebody. Here, sit down, for you don't seem able to stand, and we'll provide for you. Harry, bring some biscuit and cold meat, won't you, and Jack had better build a fire. A cup of tea will put new life into you, my friend."
The biscuit were soaked in water and given to the stranger. He devoured them like a man in the last stages of hunger.
"Go slow, my friend. Your stomach must be weak," said Obed.
"If you only knew the gnawing at my vitals," said the new-comer. "I have not tasted food for three days."
"I never was in that fix, though I did go hungry for twenty-four hours once in Californy. You'd better believe I pitched in when I got to where victuals were."