"Ye're making what lacks a heap o' bein' a bee-line for some place or other." Beverley was dazed and vacant-minded; things seemed wavering and dim.
He pushed the two men from him and gazed at them without speaking.
Their presence and voices did not convince him.
"Yer meat's a burnin'," said Oncle Jazon, stooping to turn it on the smouldering coals.

"Ye must be hungry.

Cookin' enough for a regiment." Kenton shook Beverley with rough familiarity, as if to rouse his faculties.
"What's the matter?
Fitz, my lad, don't ye know Si Kenton?
It's not so long since we were like brothers, and now ye don't speak to me! Ye've not forgot me, Fitz!" "Mebby he don't like ye as well as ye thought he did," drawled Oncle Jazon.

"I HEV known o' fellers a bein' mistaken jes' thet way." Beverley got his wits together as best he could, taking in the situation by such degrees as seemed at the time unduly slow, but which were really mere momentary falterings.
"Why, Kenton! Jazon!" he presently exclaimed, a cordial gladness blending with his surprise.

"How did you get here?
Where did you come from ?" He looked from one to the other back and forth with a wondering smile breaking over his bronzed and determined face.
"We've been hot on yer trail for thirty hours," said Kenton.
"Roussillon put us on it back yonder.