“He looks like a gentleman,” was the thought that leaped into Mandy's mind. A swift glance he swept round the circle of the light. Mandy thought she had never seen so piercing an eye.
The Indian lad uttered a low moaning sound. With a single leap the man was at his side, holding him in his arms and kissing him on both cheeks, with eager guttural speech. A few words from the lad and the Indian was on his feet again, his eyes gleaming, but his face immobile as a death mask.
“My boy,” he said, pointing to the lad. “My boy—my papoose.” His voice grew soft and tender.
Before Mandy could reply there was another shout and Allan, followed by four Indians, burst into the light. With a glad cry Mandy rushed into his arms and clung to him.
“Hello! What's up? Everything all right?” cried Allan. “I was a deuce of a time, I know. Took the wrong trail. You weren't frightened, eh? What? What's happened?” His voice grew anxious, then stern. “Anything wrong? Did he—? Did anyone—?”
“No, no, Allan!” cried his wife, still clinging to him. “It was only a wolf and I was a little frightened.”
“A wolf!” echoed her husband aghast.
The Indian lad spoke a few words and pointed to the dark. The Indians glided into the woods and in a few minutes one of them returned, dragging by the leg a big, gray timber wolf. The lad's bullet had gone home.
“And did this brute attack you?” cried Allan in alarm.
“No, no. I heard him howling a long way off, and then—then—he came nearer, and—then—I could hear his feet pattering.” Cameron drew her close to him. “And then he saw him right in the dark. Wasn't it wonderful?”