Bill Biddon, Trapper or Life in The Northwest Or Life in the Northwest

“How is it, Nat? Any light yet?” “Not the least sign of one, and it’s my opinion it will be a long time before we see another.” “What! you haven’t given up all hopes of reaching the camp? I hope not, as I don’t relish the idea of camping out to-night.” “Nor I either; but I’m thinking it will come to that sooner or later.” “Well, there are several hours yet, in which we must plod onward,” I added, trudging wearily behind my companion. Before going further, I may as well introduce my friend and myself. My companion answered to the name of Nathan Todd, and was a native of Maine. He was a tall, lank individual, with long, attentuated limbs and an awkward appearance generally. He was very meager and muscular, and when roused to a heat of passion, as quick and powerful as the panther. His gait was an ungainly, straddling one, and he was seemingly capable of anything but speed; but on one or two occasions since leaving the States, he had shown a fleetness of foot which was truly wonderful. He was a good, open-hearted fellow, and one who, when driven to the wall, would be a dangerous enemy. Once or twice, however, he had shown the white feather, and his natural timidity would often evince itself. As a consequence, Nat was not, perhaps, the safest companion in the hour of danger; but, for all that, there was no one in our party whose presence I would have preferred upon the night in which I introduce him to notice. There was no imminent peril threatening us, and Nat was a capital companion, who could while-away the hours, if he chose, with his inexhaustible store of anecdote and humor. I knew he entertained a warm affection for me, and would brave almost any danger rather than be suspected of his only deficiency. A single intimation would decide his course in a moment.