By the light of the fire March perceived that he had been deposited on a couch of pine-branches. He was about to make other observations, when his captor turned to him and said—
“I’ll go an’ see to the horse, and be back in a minute; so keep yer mind easy.”
“And, pray, what name am I to call my host by?” said March, unable to restrain his curiosity any longer.
A dark, almost fierce frown covered the man’s face, as he said angrily, “Boy, curiosity is a bad thing—anywise, it’s bad here. I’ve brought you to this cave ’cause you’d ha’ died i’ the woods if I hadn’t. Don’t ask questions about what don’t consarn ye.”
“Nay, friend, I meant no offence,” replied March. “I’ve no desire to pry into any man’s secrets. Nevertheless, it’s but natural to want to know how to address a man when ye converse with him.”
“True, true,” replied the other, somewhat mollified. “Call me Dick; it’s as good a name as any, and better than my own.”
There was a slight touch of bitterness in the tone in which this was said, as the man turned on his heel to quit the cave.
“Stay,” cried March, “you only give me one name, friend, so I’ll do the same by you. My name’s March—there, now you may march about your business.”
Dick smiled and said, “Well, March, I’ll be with ye again, and have a look at your sore bones, in two minutes.”
When he was gone March, for the first time since his accident, bethought him of his comrades. Since recovering from the state of insensibility into which his fall had thrown him, his mind had been so absorbed by the strange events that had been presented to him in such rapid succession, as well as with the pain that racked his head and limbs, that he had had no time to think about them. But, now that he was left in that quiet place alone, the whole circumstances of the recent pursuit and flight rushed suddenly upon him, and his mind was filled with anxious forebodings as to the fate of his comrades.