k 'em all. Every woodsman in Maine was
riled about it at the time, and turned out to ketch him; but he gave 'em
the slip. Now, boys, I've got to feeling pretty chummy with you. Cyrus
is an old friend; and, to speak plain, I like you Britishers. I don't
want you to think that I bust up your fun to-night for nothing. I'll
tell you the whole yarn if you want to hear it."

The looks of the trio were sufficient assent.

"All right, boys. Here goes! Since I was a kid in Maine woods I've
worked at a'most everything that a woodsman can do. Six year ago I was a
'barker' in a lumber-camp on the Kennebec River. A 'barker' is a man who
jumps onto a big tree after a chopper has felled it, and strips the bark
off with his axe, so that the trunk can be easily hauled over the snow.
Well, it's pretty hard labor, is lumbering. But our camp always got
Sunday for rest.

"Well, I was prowling about in the woods by myself one Sunday afternoon,
when an awful snow-storm come on, a big blizzard which staggered the
stripped trees like as if 'twould tumble 'em all down, and end our work
for us. I was bolting for camp as fast as I was able, when I tripped
over something which was a'most covered over in a heavy drift. 'Great
Scott!' says I, 'it's a man!' And 'twas too. He was near dead. I hauled
him out, and set him on his legs; but he couldn't walk. So I threw him
across my shoulders, same way as I carry a deer. He didn't weigh near as
much as a good buck, for he was little more'n a kid and awful lean. But
'twas dreadful travelling, with the snow half blinding and burying you.
I was plumb blowed when I struck the camp, and pitched in head foremost.

"For an hour we worked over that stranger to bring him round, and we
succeeded. We saw at once that he was a half-breed. When he could use
his tongue, he told us that his father was a settler, and his mother a
Penobscot Indian. He was sick for a spell and wild-like, then he talked
a lot of Indian jargon; but when he got back his senses, he spoke
English fust-rate. Chris Kemp he said was his name. And from the start
the lumbermen nicknamed him 'Cross-eyed Chris; for his eyes, which were
black as blackberries, had a queer squint in 'em.

"Well, in spite of the squint, I took to Chris, and he to me. And the
following year, when I decided to give up lumbering, and take to
trapping fur-bearing animals in the woods near Katahdin, he joined me.
We swore to be chums, to stick to each other through thick an