As the girl advanced he had time for a brief study of her fine, strong, khaki clad figure.
“Eighteen or twenty. English or Scotch. An outdoor girl,” was his mental comment.
“Question is,” he smiled as the girl came close, “Who’s caribou is it? Three arrows, all quite near the heart. Two are yours, one mine.”
“You—yours?” The puzzled look of a moment before returned to the girl’s face.
“Yes. I shot first. You did not see me. But there’s my arrow.
“But really,” his tone changed as the girl seemed suddenly crestfallen, “there’s no need of mine and thine in the forest. I am glad as I can be to know that there’s a fellow creature near. That was my last arrow.”
“And you are alone?”
“Quite alone.”
“You look hungry,” she said suddenly.
“I am, a little. Haven’t really eaten for—well, for some time. Luck went against me. Couldn’t even get a fish.”