"Both, lad, both; I know the spot, and am not sorry to see
so useful a fri'nd as the sun. Now we have got the p'ints of the
compass in our minds once more, and 't will be our own faults if
we let anything turn them topsy-turvy ag'in, as has just happened.
My name is not Hurry Harry, if this be not the very spot where
the land-hunters camped the last summer, and passed a week. See
I yonder are the dead bushes of their bower, and here is the spring.
Much as I like the sun, boy, I've no occasion for it to tell me it
is noon; this stomach of mine is as good a time-piece as is to be
found in the colony, and it already p'ints to half-past twelve.
So open the wallet, and let us wind up for another six hours' run."

At this suggestion, both set themselves about making the preparations
necessary for their usual frugal but hearty meal. We will profit
by this pause in the discourse to give the reader some idea of
the appearance of the men, each of whom is destined to enact no
insignificant part in our legend.

It would not have been easy to find a more noble specimen of
vigorous manhood than was offered in the person of him who called
himself Hurry Harry. His real name was Henry March but the
frontiersmen having caught the practice of giving sobriquets from
the Indians, the appellation of Hurry was far oftener applied to
him than his proper designation, and not unfrequently he was termed
Hurry Skurry, a nickname he had obtained from a dashing, reckless
offhand manner, and a physical restlessness that kept him
so constantly on the move, as to cause him to be known along the
whole line of scattered habitations that lay between the province
and the Canadas. The stature of Hurry Harry exceeded six feet four,