"A hungry-looking lot all around," was the mental comment of the young hunter.
He had seen that Little Mink did not look as though he had enjoyed a bountiful share of food lately, and the rest of the party were certainly no better off.
One of the bucks was an old man, yet he seemed to have a certain dignity about him. Frank's curiosity was now greater than ever. He made up his mind that there was something singular about this party of Crees who seemed to be wandering in the wilderness without guns, or any means for obtaining food, and, if possible, he meant to discover what the secret could be.
The old Indian approached, looking suspiciously at him. Frank put out his hand at once in a cordial manner.
"How!" he said, smiling in his engaging manner.
The other at once fell under the charm of Frank's smile.
"
White boy much hurt?" he asked, looking at the dirt and blood on Frank's left hand, where he had cut himself slightly.
"No. I had a bad fall, and feel weak. Little Mink found me lying there, and let me come with him to your camp. I have friends above, a hunting party under the charge of Mr. Mabie, the stockman."
He saw the old fellow move uneasily at mention of the name.