There was a slight touch of humour in the grave stern countenance of the stranger as he replied in a language which was quite unintelligible to Will and Larry, but which appeared to create wonderful sensations in the breast of Bunco, who for some minutes continued to talk with much volubility and eagerness.
“You appear to be old friends?” said Will, inquiringly, to the stranger.
“Not ’xactly,” he replied, “but I’ve trapped on the west side o’ the mountains, and the Redskin is excited a bit at meetin’ with a man who knows his nation and his name. I’ve heard of him before. He was thought a brave warrior by his tribe, but it is so long since he disappeared from the face o’ the ’arth that they’ve given him up for dead. His wife was alive last fall. I saw her myself, and she has steadily refused to marry any of the young braves—at least she had refused so to do up to the time I left; but there’s no calc’latin’ what these Redskins will do. However, I’ve comforted this one wi’ the news.”
“With your leave, Mister Trapper,” said Larry, breaking in impatiently at this point, “may I suggest that when you’re quite done talkin’ we should continue our sarch for grub an’ wather, for at present our stummicks is empty an’ our mouths is dry!”
“Have you no food?” asked the trapper.
“None,” answered Will; “we finished our last scrap of meat yesterday morning, and have been hoping and expecting to fall in with buffalo ever since, for the signs around show that they cannot be far distant.”
“You are right; I am even now followin’ their trail, for, like yourselves, I’m well-nigh starvin’. Not had a bite for three days.”
“Ye don’t look like it!” said Larry, gazing at the man in some surprise.
“Perhaps not, nevertheless it’s a fact, so we’ll push on an’ try to find ’em before sundown.”
Saying this, the stalwart trapper gave the rein to his stead and galloped away over the plains, followed as close as possible by the wearied travellers.