"No, you don't understand. I mean my coming to Maine to do a little quiet hunting, and then to get knocked out like this. Why, I've hunted all over this globe,--the West, India, Africa, and even in the Arctic regions--and hardly got a scratch. I didn't think anything could happen to me on a quiet little trip like this." CHAPTER VI A WORLD-WIDE HUNTER The two boys listened to the man's words with keen interest. He had hunted in the wild West, in India, Africa, and even in the Arctic regions! Surely he was a sportsman out of the ordinary. "You're like old Tom Casey," said Andy. "He fought the forest fires here for years, and never got singed, and then went home one day and burnt his arm on a red-hot stove. I hope the ankle isn't bad." "I can't tell about that until I stand on it. Give me a lift, will you?" Both boys helped the man to his feet. He took a couple of steps, and was then glad enough to return to the pine couch. "It's no use--I can't walk, yet," he murmured. "Do you think you need a doctor?" asked Chet. "Hardly--although I'd call him in if he was handy. I'm pretty tough, although I may not look it. Who are you?" "My name is Chet Greene, and this is a friend of mine, Andy Graham." "I am glad to know you, and very thankful for what you have done for me. I'll make it right with you when I'm able to get around. My name is Dawson--Barwell Dawson. I'm a traveler and hunter, and occasionally I write articles for the magazines--hunting articles mostly." "Oh, are you the man who once wrote a little book about bears--how they really live and what they do, and all that?" cried Andy. "Yes, I'm the same fellow." "I've got that book at home--you once gave it to my father, when I was about eight years old." "Is that so? I don't remember it." "My father was up on the Penobscot, lumbering. He went out with you into the woods and you found a honey tree. You gave him the book for his little boy--that was me." "Oh, yes, I remember it now!" cried Barwell Dawson. "So that was your father. How is he?" "My father is dead," answered Andy, and his voice dropped a little. "Indeed! I am sorry to hear it. And your mother?" "She is dead, too." "Then you are alone in the world? Do you live near?" "I live two miles from Pine Run, with an uncle. It was I who told you how to get to Moose Ridge, when you were driving on the wrong road." "Oh, yes, I thought I had seen you somewhere." Here the conversation lapsed, for Barwell Dawson was still weak. He lay back and closed his eyes, and the boys did not disturb him. It continued to snow, until the fresh fall covered the old to the depth of several inches. The boys kept the campfire going, and cooked such game as they had brought along. "We are booked to stay here for a while, that's certain," observed Chet. "No Lodgeport today."