“So this is Ralph Bison, is it?” asked the young hunter.
“Yas, I’m the feller ye mention, commonly called,” said the trapper, recovering from his surprise at being addressed, when he thought he and the Frenchman were alone.
“Well,” said Chauncy, “I wanted to get you to go out on the plains with me, but I found you had gone off with a naturalist, and I suppose monsieur must be the gentleman;” with a bow in that direction.
“Parbleu, but you are quite right, monsieur. I am sure it is von happy meeting. I’m from France, and am Monsieur Tierney.”
“And I am Chauncy Branrare, of New York,” said the other.
“What’s that, boyee? Air ye any relation to Capten Branrare that fit in the Mexican war?” questioned the trapper.
“He is my father. He told me to hunt you up, Ralph, and though I expected to see you before I went East again, yet I assure you I had no expectation that we would meet thus.”
“Yer hand, boyee. So ye are the cap’s son. Come over ter the light. Dang it if you don’t look just like him now. But how in the mischief did ye come hyar? Reds caught ye a-nappin’, I guess.”
“Not much,” returned our hero, and he then proceeded to tell his story.
The hunter’s eyes opened wide when he learned that Chauncy had killed five of the Comanches before he was captured.