Boston tried to resume the camp-fire stories, but the grizzled hunter was thinking of something else and replied with monosyllables.  Soon he arose, made up his pack, threw his rolled blanket over his shoulder and picked up his rifle.  Boston, in some surprise, urged him to remain, and reminded him of the arrangement for the next day’s hunt.  There was a slight movement of Doctor Tom’s head, and he seemed about to arise, but the almost imperceptible tension of his limbs instantly relaxed, and he remained apparently indifferent and unheeding.

“Fact is,” said the stranger, “I forgot that I’d got to be up to Hood River to-morrow, and I reckon I’ll just mosey along to-night so as to make it.  I know the trail with my eyes shut.”  He was about to stride out of camp, when his eye caught Doctor Tom’s old musket leaning against the tree.  “You don’t shoot with this?” he asked with a little, uneasy laugh, as he picked up the ancient piece and toyed with the lock.  Boston laughingly replied, “Well, hardly,” and the stranger replaced the gun, said “So long,” and was lost in the gloom.

It was ten minutes before Doctor Tom moved, and then he got his musket and brought it to the fire.  He lifted the hammer, removed the cap, and taking a pin from his waist band worked at the nipple until he extracted a splinter of wood.  Then he drew the charge, blew down the barrel to see that it was clear and reloaded the musket.  Doctor Tom took some smoked salmon from his pouch, made a cup of coffee and silently ate his supper, and Boston began to comprehend that there was a reason for his refusal to eat while the stranger was in camp.  But it was useless to try to make Doctor Tom talk until he had smoked, and Boston waited patiently.

At last Doctor Tom said, abruptly, “You know um?” Boston replied that he did not know the stranger, told briefly how he came into camp, and by adroit questioning drew, in laconic sentences, a story from the taciturn Indian.

The man was a hunter, who had been a famous bear-killer many years ago.  In the days of muzzle-loaders he had two rifles, one of which was always carried for him by an Indian whom he hired for that service.  If his first shot failed to kill, he handed the empty rifle to the Indian to exchange for the second weapon, and usually brought down his bear while the Indian was reloading.  A member of Doctor Tom’s tribe, probably a relative, was gun-bearer for the hunter on one of his expeditions.  They ran across a she-bear with cubs and the hunter shot her, but the wound only stung her, and she rushed fiercely upon him.  The second shot did not stop her, and the hunter and the Indian had to turn and run for their lives.