At this moment the dining room door opened, and a shining black face looked in. We have no difficulty in recognizing it as belonging to Scip.
“Gorry mi’ty! Is dat ar’ you, Vic?” he ejaculated, as his eyes fell on the trapper. “He! he! I wasn’t ’spectin’ to see you.”
“Nor I you,” answered Vic, as he shook hands. “What ye doin’ here?”
“Oh, Miss Marion, she keeps me about de kitchen. ’Spect I’m good to scour knives,” answered Scip, with a broad grin.
“Indeed, he is invaluable,” said Marion, as she led the way out to dinner. “I couldn’t do without him.”
“You are not going back very soon, are you?” asked Wayne, when they were seated at the table.
“Next week,” replied Vic. “I can’t stand it ’mong civilization very long. I’m only to hum on the plains. It’s lonesome tho’,” he added, in a changed tone, “’thout Nat.”
“Poor fellow,” said Wayne. “He at least had the privilege of dying with friends around him, though an Indian bullet laid him low.”
“He war a good fellow,” said Vic; “thar war none better nor braver.”
“Nor one more kindly,” said Marion. “He was a rough diamond but a true one. I mourned him as a friend.”