“Mais, it be new to see hims fut so big, you oogly Yankee,” cried Gibault, putting Waller’s cap over his eyes, and running into the bush to avoid the consequences.
At that moment a deer emerged from the bushes, about fifty yards from the spot on which the trappers rested, and, plunging into the river, made for the opposite bank.
“There’s our supper,” said Bounce, quietly lifting his rifle in a leisurely way, and taking aim without rising from the spot on which he sat or removing the pipe from his lips.
The sharp crack was followed by a convulsive heave on the part of the deer, which fell over on its side and floated downstream.
Big Waller gave utterance to a roar of satisfaction, and, flinging his pipe from him, bounded down the bank towards a point of rock, where he knew, from the set of the current, the deer would be certain to be stranded. Gibault, forgetting his recent piece of impertinence, darted towards the same place, and both men reached it at the same instant. Big Waller immediately lifted his little friend in his huge arms, and tossed him into the centre of a thick soft bush, out of which he scrambled in time to see his comrade catch the deer by the horns, as it floated past, and drag it on shore.
“Hoh! I vill pay you off von time,” cried Gibault, laughing, and shaking his fist at Waller. Then, seizing the last bale of goods that had not been carried across the portage, he ran away with it nimbly up the bank of the stream.
Big Waller placed the deer on his shoulders with some difficulty, and followed in the same direction.
On reaching the other end of the portage, they found the canoe reloaded and in the water, and their comrades evincing symptoms of impatience.
“Come on, lads, come on,” cried March, who seemed to be the most impatient of them all. “We’ve seen Caleb! He’s up the river, on this side. Get in! He’s sich a banger, oh!”
Before the sentence was well finished, all the men were in their places except Black Gibault, who remained on the bank to shove off the canoe.