“No; but I suppose that this one must have separated from his comrade.—Hallo! who goes there?”
The man tossed the bundle from his shoulders, and hastening forward revealed the flushed countenance of Frank Morton.
“What! Frank! why, man, you seem to have had a hard day of it, if I may judge by your looks.”
“Not so hard but that a good supper will put its effects to flight,” replied Frank, as he rested his gun against a rock and seated himself on the keg from which Stanley had risen. “The fact is, I have slain a noble buck, and being desirous that the men should have as much of it as possible, I loaded myself rather heavily. The ground, too, is horribly bad; but pray send Gaspard for the bundle. I should have been here sooner but for the time required to dissect the animal.”
“Where is Bryan, Frank?” inquired Mrs Stanley. “You went away together.”
“Bryan! I know not. He and I parted in the mountains some hours ago; and as he failed to keep his appointment with me, I concluded that he must have become foot-sore and returned to camp.”
“He has not returned,” said Stanley; “but I have no fear for the honest blacksmith. He’s too old a nor’wester to lose himself, and he’s too tough to kill. But come, Frank, let us to our tent. I see that La Roche has already prepared our salmon for the kettle, and so—”
“Salmon!” interrupted Frank.
“Ay, lad, salmon! a twenty-five pounder too! But come, change your foot-gear, and then we shall have our supper, in the course of which we shall exchange news.”
As they proceeded towards the camp the voices of some of the men were heard in the distance; it was now too dark to see them. In a few minutes François, followed by Augustus and Ma-istequan, strode into the circle of light around the fire, and laying aside their guns proceeded to light their pipes, while they replied to the questions of Frank and Stanley.