Vic caught sight of him and hurried to him.
They laid him down carefully, Marion holding his head, and bathing his brow with water.
He opened his eyes with a faint smile.
“It’s all over,” he said, looking up. “Vic, my boy, we’ll go trapping together no more. I’ve hunted my last buffalo. Good-by.”
Vic grasped his hand and wrung it without a word, turning away to hide his emotion.
The old trapper looked from one to the other.
“Good-by boys, I’m going! Good-by, little ’un; don’t forgit me. Don’t cry, it’s best so. We’ll meet ag’in, I hope.”
He closed his eyes with a smile, holding one of Marion’s hands in his. The pallor deepened on his rough face, the labored breathing grew fainter.
“He is asleep,” said Marion, reverently, with fast-dropping tears. “Asleep forever in this life.”
Kent was kneeling beside him, holding one hand.