"All right, Mr. Surveyor," said the stranger with a good-natured laugh. "Pardon my abruptness. I was merely testing you. One cannot be too careful in these parts nowadays when the woods are full of horse thieves and whiskey runners. Oh, come on," he continued, glancing at Cameron's face, "I apologise. So you're lost, eh? Hungry too? Well, so am I, and though I was not going to feed just yet we may as well grub together. Bring the cattle into shelter here," he said to Little Thunder. "They will stand right enough. And get busy with the grub."
The Indian grunted a remonstrance.
"Oh, that's all right," replied the stranger. "Hand it over." He took Cameron's rifle from the Indian and set it in the corner.
"Now get a move on! We have no time to waste."
So saying he hurried out himself into the storm. In a few minutes Cameron could hear the blows of an axe, and soon the stranger appeared with a load of dry wood with which he built up a blazing fire. He was followed shortly by the Indian, who from a sack drew out bacon, hardtack, and tea, and, with cooking utensils produced from another sack, speedily prepared supper.
"Pile in," said the stranger to Cameron, passing him the pan in which the bacon and venison had been fried. "Pass the tea, Little Thunder. No time to waste. We've got to hustle."
Cameron was only too eager to obey these orders, and in the generous warmth of the big fire and under the stimulus of the boiling tea his strength and nerve began to come back to him.
For some minutes he was too intent on satisfying his ravenous hunger to indulge in conversation with his host, but as his hunger became appeased he began to give his attention to the man who had so mysteriously blown in upon him out of the blizzard. There was something fascinating about the lean, clean-cut face with its firm lines about the mouth and chin and its deep set brown-grey eyes that glittered like steel or shone like limpid pools of light according to the mood of the man. They were extraordinary eyes.
Cameron remembered them like dagger points behind the pistol and then like kindly lights in a dark window when he had smiled. Just now as he sat eating with eager haste the eyes were staring forward into the fire out of deep sockets, with a far-away, reminiscent, kindly look in them. The lumberman's heavy skin-lined jacket and the overalls tucked into boots could not hide the athletic lines of the lithe muscular figure. Cameron looked at his hands with their long, sinewy fingers. "The hands of a gentleman," thought he.
"What is his history? And where does he come from?"
"London's my home," said the stranger, answering Cameron's mental queries. "Name, Raven--Richard Colebrooke Raven--Dick for short; rancher, horse and cattle trader; East Kootenay; at present running in a stock of goods and horses; and caught like yourself in this beastly blizzard."
"My name's Cameron, and I'm from Edinburgh a year ago," replied Cameron briefly.
"Edinburgh? Knew it ten years ago. Quiet old town, quaint folk.
Never know what they are thinking about you."
Cameron smiled. How well he remembered the calm, detached, critical but uncurious gaze with which the dwellers of the modern Athens were wont to regard mere outsiders.
"I know," he said. "I came from the North myself."
The stranger had apparently forgotten him and was gazing steadily into the fire. Suddenly, with extraordinary energy, he sprang from the ground where he had been sitting.
"Now," he cried, "en avant!"
"Where to?" asked Cameron, rising to his feet.
"East Kootenay, all the way, and hustle's the word."
"Not me," said Cameron. "I must get back to my camp. If you will kindly leave me some grub and some matches I shall be all right and very much obliged. McIvor will be searching for me to-morrow."
"Ha!" burst forth the stranger in vehement expletive. "Searching for you, heh?" He stood for a few moments in deep thought, then spoke to the Indian a few words in his own language. That individual, with a fierce glance towards Cameron, grunted a gruff reply.
"No, no," said Raven, also glancing at Cameron. Again the Indian spoke, this time with insistent fierceness. "No! no! you cold-blooded devil," replied the trader. "No! But," he added with emphasis, "we will take him with us. Pack! Here, bring in coat, mitts, socks, Little Thunder. And move quick, do you hear?" His voice rang out in imperious command.
Little Thunder, growling though he might, no longer delayed, but dived into the storm and in a few moments returned bearing a bag from which he drew the articles of clothing desired.
"But I am not going with you," said Cameron firmly. "I cannot desert my chief this way. It would give him no end of trouble.
Leave me some matches and, if you can spare it, a little grub, and I shall do finely."
"Get these things on," replied Raven, "and quit talking. Don't be a fool! we simply can't leave you behind. If you only knew the alternative, you'd--"
Cameron glanced at the Indian. The eager fierce look on that hideous face startled him.
"We will send you back all safe in a few days," continued the trader with a smile. "Come, don't delay! March is the word."
"I won't go!" said Cameron resolutely. "I'll stay where I am."
"All right, you fool!" replied Raven with a savage oath. "Take your medicine then."
He nodded to the Indian. With a swift gleam of joy in his red-rimmed eyes the Indian reached swiftly for Cameron's rifle.
"No, too much noise," said Raven, coolly finishing the packing.
