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.
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