“You do not come empty-handed,” remarked the latter, as François and his comrades threw down several fat ducks and a few grouse, which, after the fashion of hunters, they had carried pendent by the necks from their belts.
“We only shot a few, monsieur,” replied François, “to put in the kettle for supper. We might have loaded a canoe had we chosen.”
“That is well,” said Stanley; “but the kettle is full already, and supper prepared. See, Frank has shot a deer, so that we shall fare well to-night.—Ah, Prince! come along. What! more game?” he added, as Dick and Massan entered the halo of light, and threw down the choice morsels of a fat deer which they had killed among the mountains.
“Ah! oui, monsieur,” said Massan, chuckling as he laid aside his axe and gun; “we might ha’ killed three o’ them if we had been so minded; but we couldn’t ha’ brought them into camp, an’, as Dick said, ’tis a pity to kill deer to feed the wolves with.”
“Right!” exclaimed Frank; “but did any of you see Bryan? He gave me the slip in the mountains, and, I fear, has lost himself.”
To this the men replied in the negative, and some of them smiled at the idea of the blacksmith being lost.
“No fear, vraiment! He no lost,” cried La Roche with a laugh, as he lifted the huge kettle from the fire and placed it in the midst of the men, having previously abstracted the best portions for the special benefit of his master. “No fear of Bryan, certainment; he like one bad shilling—he come up toujours. Ah! mauvais chien, him give me all de trouble ov get supper ready mylone.”
“I trust it may be so,” said Stanley. “We are all here except him and Oolibuck, whom I have sent to the coast for a few days to watch for the ship. But let us have supper, La Roche, and spread ours nearer the fire to-night—it is rather cold; besides, I want to hear the reports of the men.”
In compliance with this order, the lively Frenchman spread the supper for his master’s family close beside that of the men, and in a few minutes more a most vigorous attack was made on the viands, during the first part of which the hungry travellers maintained unbroken silence. But as the cravings of nature began to be satisfied, their tongues found time to remark on the excellence of the fare. The salmon was superb. Even Edith, who seldom talked about what she ate, pronounced it very good. The white-fish were better than any of the party had ever eaten in their lives, although most of them had travelled over the length and breadth of the North American wilderness. The ducks were perfect. Even the ptarmigan were declared passable; and the venison, with an inch of fat on the haunches—words were not found sufficiently expressive to describe it. Those who are philosophically inclined may suspect that some of this super-excellence lay in the keen appetites of the men. Well, perhaps it did.
While the travellers were in the midst of this, and ere yet their tongues were fairly loosened, a loud unearthly shout rang with appalling reverberations among the surrounding cliffs, causing the entire party to start up and rush for their arms. Again the cry was heard.