"Did you hear anything?" asked Shank, in a low voice. "I thought so--but it must have been the shifting of a log on the fire," said the other, in a similarly low tone. "Come, now, Charlie," said Shank, in his ordinary tones, "let me hear something about yourself. You have not said a word yet about what you have been doing these three years past." As he spoke a slight noise was again heard in the passage, and, next moment Buck Tom re-entered carrying a lump of meat. Whether he had been listening or not they had no means of knowing, for his countenance was quite grave and natural in appearance. "I suppose you have had long enough, you two, to renew your old acquaintance," he said. "It behoves me now to get ready some supper for the boys against their return, for they would be ill-pleased to come home to an empty kettle, and their appetites are surprisingly strong. But you needn't interrupt your conversation. I can do my work without disturbing you." "We have no secrets to communicate, Buck," returned Shank, "and I have no doubt that the account of himself, which our old chum was just going to give, will be as interesting to you as to me." "Quite as interesting," rejoined Buck; "so pray go on, Brooke. I can listen while I look after the cookery." Thus urged, our hero proceeded to relate his own adventures at sea--the wreck of the _Walrus_, the rescue by the whaler, and his various experiences both afloat and ashore. "The man, Dick Darvall, whom I have mentioned several times," said Charlie, in conclusion, "I met with again in New York, when I was about to start to come here, and as I wanted a companion, and he was a most suitable man, besides being willing to come, I engaged him. He is a rough and ready, but a handy and faithful, man, who had some experience in woodcraft before he went to sea, but I have been forced to leave him behind me at a ranch a good many miles to the south of David's store, owing to the foolish fellow having tried to jump a creek in the dark and broken his horse's leg. We could not get another horse at the time, and as I was very anxious to push on--being so near my journey's end--and the ranch was a comfortable enough berth, I left him behind, as I have said, with directions to stay till I should return, or to push on if he could find a safe guide." While Charlie Brooke was relating the last part of his experience, it might have been observed that the countenance of Buck Tom underwent a variety of curious changes, like the sky of an April day. A somewhat stern frown settled on it at last but neither of his companions observed the fact being too much interested in each other. "What was the name o' the ranch where your mate was left?" asked Buck Tom, when his guest ceased speaking. "The ranch of Roaring Bull," answered Charlie. "I should not wonder," he added, "if its name were derived from its owner's voice, for it sounded like the blast of a trombone when he shouted to his people."