pon the
scene of the late skirmish.

"Hallo! Mr Bertram, here you are; guess we've polished 'em off this
time a few. Hey! wot's this?" cried Big Waller, as he and some of the
others leaped to the ground and surrounded Bertram. "Not _dead_, is
he?"

The tone in which the Yankee trapper said this betrayed as much rage as
regret. The bare idea of his young comrade having been killed by the
savages caused him to gnash his teeth with suppressed passion.

"Out o' the way, lads; let me see him," cried Bounce, who galloped up at
that moment, flung himself off his horse, pushed the others aside, and
kneeling at his side, laid his hand on March Marston's heart.

"All right," he said, raising the youth's head, "he's only stunned.
Run, Gibault, fetch a drop o' water. The horse that brained this here
redskin, by good luck, only stunned March."

"Ah! mon pauvre enfant!" cried Gibault as he ran to obey.

The water quickly restored March, and in a few minutes he was able to
sit up and call to remembrance what had passed. Ere his scattered
faculties were quite recovered, the fur-traders returned, with Macgregor
at their head.

"Well done, the Wild Man of the West!" cried McLeod, as he dismounted.
"Not badly hurt, young man, I trust."

"Oh! nothing to speak of. Only a thump on the head from a horse's
hoof," said March; "I'll be all right in a little time. Did you say
anything about the Wild Man of the West?" he added earnestly.

"To be sure I did; but for him you and Mr Bertram would have been dead
men, I fear. Did you not see him?"

"See him? no," replied March, much excited. "I heard a tremendous roar,
but just then I fell to the ground, and remember nothing more that
happened."

"Was that quiet, grave-looking man the Wild Man of the West?" inquired
Bertram, with a mingled feeling of interest and surprise.

This speech was received with a loud burst of laughter from all who
heard it.

"Well, I've never seed the Wild Man till to-day," said one, "though I've
often heer'd of him, but I must say the little glimpse I got didn't show
much that was mild or grave."

"I guess your head's bin in a swum, stranger," said another. "I've only
seed him this once, but I don't hope to see him agin. He ain't to be
trusted, he ain't, that feller."

"And I've seen him five or six times," added McLeod, "and all I can say
is, that twice out o' the five he was like an incarnate fiend, and the
other three times--when he came to