"Mr. Samuel Dickson, one of my best friends," said George, "and I hope soon one of yours." "I hope so; I like his looks," laughed Charbonneau. "Thank you," said the squatter. "It is quite unnecessary, only I don't say the same to everybody. But I have known you some time." "If not hunting, what were you doing?" asked George. "Something has happened at the wigwam. Three travellers, two white hunters and an Indian chief, have reached your house, and demanded hospitality," he replied. "Of course you did not refuse?" "Of course I did not. Besides, two of the hunters are my friends, and the other is likely to become so." "You know you are welcome to act; still, why look for me?" "Well, I did not exactly look for you, but I wanted to give you warning; of course, I knew where you had gone." The young man blushed, while the old man laughed. "Now, then," cried Clinton, "let us go home." "Wait one moment. About fifty yards in my rear the dogs opened cry. I ran and found--" "A bear?" exclaimed the squatter. "No, I would not have minded that. It was not a bear, but a man. He was lying insensible on the ground, his skull split open from a heavy fall, and a shot wound in his left arm. His horse was grazing close by. He appeared to be a traveller traitorously shot by an Indian. I thought I heard an explosion; at all events, the wretch fled before the dogs, just as he was about to rob the unfortunate." "You assisted him?" "How could I help it? I could not let him die like a skunk on the road; and yet it would have been wiser." "Charbonneau!" cried the young man, "Is that really you?" "You know me well, Master George. Well, despite myself, I don't like the look of this man, though he is handsome enough. He has a terrible expression, and you know it takes something to move me. Still, I feel an invincible repugnance for this man, whom I never saw before. The dogs were like myself; I had the greatest difficulty to prevent them tearing him to pieces. Nadeje was like a mad creature; she wanted to strangle him. Do you know, Master George, dogs never make a mistake?" "A very good thing," said George Clinton; "but the man is wounded, likely to die. We are bound to succour him." "I know it, and have done so. I have seen to him as I would to myself or one of my dogs. Still, Master George, mark my words, it is a bitter foe you shelter under your roof." "It may be so, but we must do our duty." "As you please. Still I shall watch him." "Where is he?" "Just under yonder cluster of oaks, which you see from here. It was after dressing his wound I fired a shot on chance." "Did he say nothing?" asked George. "He is still quite insensible." "Let us join him, and if the dogs are so ill-disposed towards the stranger, watch them carefully." "All right, Master George. Be quiet, dogs," said the hunter, turning back, followed by the two great dogs, the others making up the rear.