filled with conjectures in reference to
this wonderful creature, he should suppose the first tall, mysterious
man he met must be he. But he dismissed the notion as untenable and
absurd on second thoughts. That the blue-eyed, calm, dignified hunter
who kneeled by his side, and held the refreshing water to his lips as if
he were a trained sick nurse, should be the Wild Man, the man reported
to be forty feet high, covered with hair, and exceeding fierce besides
ugly, was out of the question. And when March shut his eyes in the full
enjoyment of the cool draught, of which, poor fellow, he stood much in
need, and heard the supposed Wild Man give vent to a sigh, which caused
him to look up in surprise, so that he observed the mild blue eyes
gazing sadly in his face, and the large head to which they belonged
shaking from side to side mournfully, he almost laughed at himself for
even momentarily entertaining such an absurd idea.

March Marston had much to learn--we mean in the way of reading human
character and in judging from appearances. He had not yet observed, in
the course of his short life, that if a blue eye is capable of
expressing soft pity, it is also pre-eminently capable of indicating
tiger-like ferocity. He did not consider that the gentlest natures are,
when roused to fury, the most terrible in their outward aspect. He did
not reflect that if this giant (for he almost deserved thus to be
styled), instead of being engaged in an office of kindness, that
naturally induced gentleness of action, and that called for no other
feelings than those of tenderness and pity, were placed on a warhorse,
armed with sword and shield, and roused to fury by some such sight as
that of a large band of savage Indians attacking a small and innocent
group of white trappers, he might then amply fulfil all the conditions
that would entitle him to the wildest possible name that could be
invented.

The prominent ideas in March's mind at that time were, a pair of blue
eyes and a large, gentle hand; so he quietly and finally dismissed the
Wild Man from his thoughts.

Luckily, the Wild Man did not treat March in a similar manner. After
allowing him to rest quietly for a few minutes, he said--

"Now, lad, I think ye're improvin'. Ye're badly battered about the head
and shoulders, so I'll take ye home with me."

"Home with you?" repeated March.

"Ay, put your arms round my neck," returned the Wild Man in a tone
which, though soft a