“That’s bad,” said Bounce, shaking his head slowly—“very bad; for the redskins ’ll kill us if they can on account o’ them rascally fur-traders. Howsomdiver we can’t mend it, so we must bear it.”
As Bounce uttered this consolatory remark, the party cantered up to the open space in front of the gate of the fort, just above which a man was seen leaning quietly over the wooden walls of the place with a gun resting on his arm.
“Hallo!” shouted this individual when they came within hail.
“Hallo!” responded Bounce.
“Friends or foes, and where from?” inquired the laconic guardian of the fort.
“Friends,” replied Redhand riding forward, “we come from the Yellowstone. Have lost some of our property, but got some of it back, and want to trade furs with you.”
To this the sentinel made no reply, but, looking straight at Big Waller, inquired abruptly, “Are you the Wild Man?”
“Wot wild man?” said Waller gruffly.
“Why, the Wild Man o’ the West?”
“No, I hain’t,” said Waller still more gruffly, for he did not feel flattered by the question.