A couple of birds which he had shot during the day, hung at his saddle bow. These he quickly stripped of their feathers and prepared for cooking, which he managed by suspending them before the fire, each on the end of a pointed stick whose other end was thrust well into the ground.
A bit of corn-bread from his saddle-bags, and water from a running stream near by, filled up the complement of viands that formed his simple repast.
He had but just begun it when a slight sound like the crackling of a dry twig, near at hand, made him look up.
The flickering firelight showed him a tall dark form creeping stealthily toward him, another and much smaller one close at its heels.
He instinctively put out his hand for his gun, lying by his side, then drew it back as he perceived that the approaching strangers were a woman and child. The former was wrapped in an Indian blanket, and carried a papoose on her back.
"Me friend," she said in broken English. "Me hungry; papoose hungry," pointing to the little one trotting at her side.
"Sit down and I will feed you," Kenneth answered, making room for her near the fire.
She seated herself upon the roots of a tree, the child crouching at her feet, laid the babe, which was sleeping soundly, across her lap, and taking the food he offered shared it with the other child.
Something in her look and manner half startled Kenneth. He hastily threw a pine knot upon the fire. It burst into a bright blaze, throwing a strong light upon the face and figure of the stranger, and Kenneth's heart throbbed as he looked keenly at her, at first beating high with hope, then almost it stood still in disappointment and despair.
"She is too young," he sighed to himself; then speaking aloud, "You are a white woman," he said.