Murphy gazed musingly at Mount through narrowed eyes. Mount, in a brown study, stared back.
"Phwere th' divil have I seen him, I dunnoa!" muttered Murphy. "Jack, 'tis wan mush-rat looks like th' next, an' all thrappers has the same cut to them! Yonder's no thrapper!"
"Nor peddler," added Mount; "the strap of the Delaware baskets never bowed his legs."
"Thrue, avick! Wisha, lad, 'tis horses he knows better than snow-shoes, bed-plates, an' thrip-sticks! An' I've seen him, I think!"
"Where?" I asked.
He shook his head, vacantly staring. Moved by the same impulse, we all started forward; the man was not far ahead, but our moccasins made no noise in the dust and we closed up swiftly on him and were at his elbow before he heard us.
Under the heavy sunburn the color faded in his cheeks when he saw us. I noted it, but that was nothing strange considering the perilous conditions of the country and the sudden shock of our appearance.
"Good-day, friend," cried Mount, cheerily.
"Good-day, friends," he replied, stammering as though for lack of breath.
"God save our country, friend," added Elerson, gravely.