“But, I say,” cried Bounce, looking round suddenly, “wot’s come o’ yon ’xtraor’nary feller as—”
Bounce paused abruptly, for at that moment his eye fell on the “’xtraor’nary feller” in question. He was seated quietly on a large stone, not many yards distant, with book on knee and pencil in hand, making a rapid sketch of the party and the surrounding scene!
“Wot is he?” inquired Bounce of Gibault in a whisper.
“I calc’late,” observed Waller in a low voice, at the same time touching his forehead and looking mysterious; “I calc’late, he’s noncombobble-fusticated.”
“Perhaps,” said Redhand with a quiet laugh.
“Whatever he is, it’s bad manners to stand starin’ at him,” said Redhand, “so you’d better go and pick up yer guns and things, while Bounce and I skin this feller and cut off his claws.”
The party separated at once, and the artist, who seemed a little disappointed at being thus checked in his work, no sooner observed the flaying process begin than he turned over the leaf of his book, and began a new sketch.
Not many minutes were required for the skinning of the bear. When it was done, it, along with all the scattered things, was placed in the canoe, and then Redhand, approaching the artist, touched his cap and said—
“You have shared our hunt to-day, sir; mayhap you’ll not object to share our camp and our supper.”
“Most willingly, my good friend,” replied the artist, rising and holding out his hand, which the trapper shook heartily. “You seem to be trappers.”