You know, mother dear, I don't want to leave you; but I was born to be a hunter, and everybody in them parts is a hunter, and I can't hunt in the kitchen you know, mother!" At this point the conversation was interrupted by a sound that caused young Varley to spring up and seize his rifle, and Fan to show her teeth and growl.
"Hist, mother! that's like horses' hoofs," he whispered, opening the door and gazing intently in the direction whence the sound came.
Louder and louder it came, until an opening in the forest showed the advancing cavalcade to be a party of white men.

In another moment they were in full view--a band of about thirty horsemen, clad in the leathern costume and armed with the long rifle of the far west.
Some wore portions of the gaudy Indian dress, which gave to them a brilliant, dashing look.

They came on straight for the block-house, and saluted the Varleys with a jovial cheer as they swept past at full speed.

Dick returned the cheer with compound interest, and calling out, "They're trappers, mother; I'll be back in an hour," bounded off like a deer through the woods, taking a short cut in order to reach the block-house before them.

He succeeded, for, just as he arrived at the house, the cavalcade wheeled round the bend in the river, dashed up the slope, and came to a sudden halt on the green.