The next moment he fainted from loss of blood, and while they used every measure in their power to aid him and stanch the flow of blood, Ben had time to look at the girl. She was a lady-like woman, with a sweet face, a calm, bold eye, and a trim figure. Her dress was that of the better class of western emigrants, though travel-stained and torn. The young man called Bentley was wounded in a dozen places by the sharp nails of his late assailant, and badly beaten about the head with the heavy club. They raised him in their arms and carried him forward. In a moment more they turned an angle in the path and reached their camping-ground. They gathered a quantity of pine branches and threw their blankets on it and laid the wounded man upon it. Ben had some rude knowledge of surgery, a knowledge which stood him in good stead now. He went away and came back directly, holding in his hands a small heap of leaves. These he placed upon a flat stone and quickly reduced them to a pumice, which he applied to the wounds of the young stranger. By this time he had recovered his senses, and though yet faint from loss of blood, he understood his situation and the care which was being taken for his recovery. The girl had followed them without a word. There was something in the face of Trapper Ben which inspired confidence in him. No woman could look in his face and feel the least fear of him after it. A good, brave old man, knowing his work, and doing it. When every thing which could be done for the comfort of the wounded man had been accomplished, Jules Damand built a fire, and began to fry some venison-steaks, which he found in his saddlebags. There is a natural taste for the fine arts in cookery which seems to be characteristic of the French people, and Jules was no exception to the rule. To see him at work upon a venison-joint would make the mouth of an epicure water. And though Jan was no epicure, he was dreadfully hungry after his tackle with the bear, and watched the process of cooking with a sense of unsatisfied longing which pleased Ben exceedingly. “Yer hungry, old man?” he said. “Hoongry? You pet. I’m yoost as hungry ash nefer vas. Vy you vait so long, Shules? Sh’pose you hurry pefore I die mit hunger.” “Not I. You will find that it is impossible to hurry meat. It must cook just long enough, or it will not be fit for pigs. You must not expect me to slight my cookery now, when there is a lady in the case.” “Oh, coom, coom. Don’t keep him dere no more. I more hoongry efery minnit.” Jules shook his head, and continued his work of turning the steaks with an air of interest in the occupation which only a Frenchman can feel in such labor. At last his work was done, and taking some of the venison on a piece of bark, he approached the young lady, and handed it to her with the look of a marquis offering refreshment to a duchess. And, indeed, the graces of Monsieur Jules Damand upon this occasion would have done credit to any rank in life.