I urged Carlos not to do that, at all events; though I agreed that he ought not to be allowed to go out of sight of his guards for a single moment.
While we were still examining the horses, hoping that after a little while the lameness would go off, one of the scouts called out that a stranger was approaching.
“Maybe he is one of the blacks,” I observed. But on mounting the platform placed inside the stockade, I saw that the man was a white in hunter’s garb, and that he was carrying a deer on his shoulders. He was accompanied by a handsome hound, which every now and then turned round, as if on the watch to give him timely notice of the approach of any one who might be following him. He hurried on, notwithstanding the weight of the animal and holding his rifle in his hand, looking back every now and then as if he did not feel himself secure from pursuit.
“Who comes there?” shouted the sentry.
“A friend,” was the reply. “Open the gate, and let me in. I wish to see your commanding officer.”
I hurried down to tell Captain Norton, who ordered the gate to be opened.
As the hunter advanced, what was my surprise to recognise our friend Rochford. The gate was opened, and the hunter entered. Throwing down the deer, he advanced with outstretched hand to meet Captain Norton. Though he was much disguised by his hunter’s dress, his sun-burned features, and a huge moustache, as I watched him I felt sure that I was not mistaken.
“What brings you here?” asked Captain Norton.
“I come to give you warning that you may at any moment be attacked by a strong body of Indians. Don’t you know me?” asked the hunter.