He intended hiding somewhere until dark, and then seeing what could be done for Chauncy. Suddenly he remembered the paper he held in his hand. He tried to read the few lines that were written on it, but being no scholar and knowing only the capitals, he found it impossible.
What should he do?
Maybe the naturalist could read it; at any rate it would do no harm to ask him. No sooner thought of than acted upon. To the great delight of the guide the Frenchman declared that he could read it, and took it from the former’s hand.
It read as follows, being written in lead pencil:
“Ride to the bank of the river, about six miles from here, and hide until dark. Then I will join you with the young fellow. I will give the hoot of an owl and you answer with the cry of the loon.
Barry Le Clare.”
The Frenchman read this to the trapper, and then the latter could not help expressing his joy.
“Snakes an’ catamounts,” ejaculated he, “thet’s good az far az it goes. That feller’s sharp an’ he’ll get Cha’ncy away if anybody could. Didn’t his hoss knock spots out o’ the gray ’un?”
“Oui, monsieur, he be very fine man. He make good hunter. He von magnificent rider, von elegant jumper, von splendid racer, von superb ventriloquist, von excellent—” exclaimed the naturalist.
“That’ll do, mounsheer. We’ll make tracks for the river now. It’s past noon, and I want ter git ter the river so that we can hev some dinner. What d’ye say ter that?” said the trapper, breaking in upon the Frenchmen, who, after the manner of his nation, was getting excited and was about to launch forth into a vivid and startling string of praise.
“Begar, I do feel hungry, monsieur. I could eat von dozen frog-legs now, vid relish. Oh, dey are superb,” cried the naturalist.