“We are, sir, at your service. It’s gettin’ late and we’ve a good bit to go yet, before we come to the place where we mean to camp, so you’d better come at once.”
“Certainly; by all means; let us embark without delay,” replied the artist, pocketing his sketch-book.
“Pardon me, sir,” said Redhand, with some hesitation, “are you alone?”
“I am,” replied the other sadly; then, as if a sudden thought had struck him—“I had two pistols and a cloak once.”
“We’ve picked ’em up, sir. They’re in the canoe now. At least the pistols are, an’ what’s left o’ the cloak.”
“Ha! ’twas an old and cherished friend! Are you ready?”
“All ready, sir.”
So saying, the old man led the way to the canoe and embarked with his strange companion. Then, pushing out into the stream just as the shades of night began to descend upon the wilderness, the trappers paddled swiftly away, wondering in their hearts who and what the stranger could be, and talking occasionally in subdued tones of the chief incidents of the exciting combat through which they had so recently passed.