trapper, "and I humbly hope, though I have so long consorted with the
beasts of the wilderness, that I have not yet lost the look of my
kind."

"Oh! I knew you to be a man, and I thought I knew the whine of the
hound, too," she answered hastily, as if willing to explain she knew
not what, and then checking herself, like one fearful of having
already said too much.

"I saw no dogs, among the teams of your father," the trapper remarked.

"Father!" exclaimed the girl, feelingly, "I have no father! I had
nearly said no friend."

The old man turned towards her, with a look of kindness and interest,
that was even more conciliating than the ordinary, upright, and
benevolent expression of his weather-beaten countenance.

"Why then do you venture in a place where none but the strong should
come?" he demanded. "Did you not know that, when you crossed the big
river, you left a friend behind you that is always bound to look to
the young and feeble, like yourself."

"Of whom do you speak?"

"The law--'tis bad to have it, but, I sometimes think, it is worse to
be entirely without it. Age and weakness have brought me to feel such
weakness, at times. Yes--yes, the law is needed, when such as have not
the gifts of strength and wisdom are to be taken care of. I hope,
young woman, if you have no father, you have at least a brother."