"Hello, you young cheechako!" yelled Britton, gaily.
"Holá! mon camarade, you tam ole stampeder!" cried Giraud, rushing in with outstretched hands. "By de gar, Ah nevaire t'ink Ah find you here. Ah s'pose you seex hondred mile back–saprie, yes." He pulled off his Arctic hood, disclosing a veritable voyageur's head, handsome, debonair, crowned with coal-black curls and lightened by the ever-changing play of his fine eyes, sombre-hued as his hair. Pierre's face was full of a certain reckless beauty, and riveted attention by his daring, wilderness-bred fascination. Camaraderie spilled out of his infectious laugh and his habitant speech.
Thus the two friends remained, the one sitting, the other standing, raking each other with volleys of cross-questions. They talked like a pair of chattering jays, trying to gather in the threads of the more recent incidents that had befallen each, till Laurance interrupted them.
"Sit down and eat," he said to Pierre, "I'll unhitch your team."
It was then the current of excitement, which Giraud appeared to have difficulty in suppressing, burst to the surface. He sprang to Laurance's side and caught his arm.
"Non, non!" he exclaimed. "Wait wan leetle w'ile. Ah breeng news. We want dat sled sure t'ing. De cache-thief–you hear of heem?"
Laurance's keen blue eyes flashed. "Is he pinched?" he cried, eagerly. "Have you seen him?"
Britton rose from his chair in vague alarm. He was thinking of the girl travelling alone over the trail. "Speak, Pierre," was his tart order, "you know something. Out with it!"
"You leesten den," Giraud began, excitedly. "Ah come by de cache on Silver Hollow après de dark she fall. Wat t'ink Ah find? De cache broken open. De stuff all gone to diable. Dat thief not ver' far away–Ah know dat for sure t'ing by de tracks. Ah t'ink we get fresh dogs here an' catch heem–catch heem!" Pierre jumped about and flourished his brawny arms in emphasis.
"Anderson he geeve reward," he continued.