I am nearly
frozen as it is."
The man came forward, still covering him with his pistol. He ran his
free hand over Cameron's person.
"How many of you?" he asked, in a voice sharp and crisp.
"I am all alone. But hurry up! I am about all in."
"Lead on to your fire!" said the stranger. "But if you want to live, no
monkey work. I've got you lined."
Cameron led the way to the fire. The stranger threw a swift glance
around the cave, then, with eyes still holding Cameron, he whistled
shrilly on his fingers. Almost immediately, it seemed to Cameron, there
came into the light another man who proved to be an Indian, short,
heavily built, with a face hideously ugly and rendered more repulsive
by the small, red-rimmed, blood-shot eyes that seemed to Cameron to peer
like gimlets into his very soul.
At a word of command the Indian possessed himself of Cameron's rifle and
stood at the entrance.
"Now," said the stranger, "talk quick. Who are you? How did you come
here? Quick and to the point."
"I am a surveyor," said Cameron briefly. "McIvor's gang. I was left at
camp to cook, saw a deer, wounded it, followed it up, lost my way, the
storm caught me, but, thank God, I found this cave, and with my last
match lit the fire. I was trying to cook my venison when I heard you
coming.
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