leaned on the muzzle of his rifle and looked at this
solitary resting-place of one who, doubtless like himself,
had been a roving hunter. Had he been young or old
when he fell? had he a mother in the distant settlement
who watched and longed and waited for the son
that was never more to gladden her eyes? had he been
murdered, or had he died there and been buried by his
sorrowing comrades? These and a thousand questions
passed rapidly through his mind as he gazed at the little
cross.