Sandy began to look anxious.
"Oh! I hope nothing has gone wrong," he observed.
"Nonsense!" expostulated the other, "what could have happened? Just because we saw an Indian, and he tried to put an arrow in one of us, is no sign of danger to the camp. The only thing that bothers me is that perhaps they have halted far back there for the night. In that event, see where we would have to carry all this meat."
"We might hang it up out of reach of wolves, and bring some of the men, with a horse, to tote it in," suggested Sandy.
"That is so, and a clever idea, too. Wait and see. Perhaps they may come on, and pass near us here," Bob remarked, "for we are close to the trail, which I am sure lies over by that leaning sycamore tree."
So they sat down to wait and listen for more signs.
"This certainly beats our woods back in Virginia," remarked Bob, as he looked around at the great primeval forest that surrounded them, the trees of tremendous girth and beginning to show a new crop of bright green leaves.
"Yes," responded his brother, reflectively, "it is indeed a wonderful country, and, from the signs, just overflowing with game. There was that salt-lick we ran across two days ago; why, from the marks, thousands of deer and buffalo must visit it every year. That very night we shot three fine stags and a doe, you remember."
"Yes, and I was sorry we killed that last one, for she had a little, spotted fawn running at her heels, and of course it will die, being left uncared for."
Bob was a true sportsman. He loved to hunt game, but something within always prevented him from killing more than he could use. And that is ever the mark of one who truly loves Nature. Believing that these good things are provided by an all-wise Creator for the enjoyment of man, they look on it as a sin to waste any such bounties.