Fascinated, Lander waited and the dot became a canoe; then almost before he knew it the canoe leaped from the middle distance into the foreground, and there was Papa Clair, white hair and white mustaches and his knife in his belt.
"Good day, Papa Clair," softly called out Bridger from behind the willow screen.
"Bonjour, m'sieu," quietly returned Papa Clair, sending his canoe toward the hiding-place and picking up a rifle.
"Bound to have a fight with me," saluted Bridger, poking his head into view. "Where are the bull-boats hid up?"
"M'sieu Bridger! It is good to see you. Where is my young friend? Ah—now I see you, my friend. Then all is well with you. But name of a pipe! Such a bother, the boats of the bull! They are safe. Let that be your satisfy. But when we have done with them I will rip them to the devil for being blind pigs and the sons of pigs."
He passed under the drooping branches and held his canoe against the boat and exchanged handshakes. His trip down the Big Horn and Yellowstone with the packs had been uneventful except for the vicissitudes of snags and bars and
