Mr. Templeton gazed at him sharply, and remarked by way of explanation of his apparent rudeness:
“Most of us are from there, and I thought at first there was something in your voice that was familiar, but I don’t remember your name. We have a young lady—Miss Florence Brandon, whose name you may have heard, as she was a belle at home.”
“I think I have heard of her.”
“Would you like to renew your acquaintance with her?”
“No; I thank you; we hunters are hardly in a condition to appear in the presence of refined ladies, as I judge Miss Brandon to be, and our lives are such that we should cut a sorry figure, if we attempted to do so.”
“But you talk like one who has not always led a hunter’s life.”
“I have some education, but at present, I am simply a hunter and trapper.”
Florence Brandon! Little did Mr. Templeton dream of the strange emotions awakened in the breast of Fred Wainwright, the young hunter, at the mention of that name.
CHAPTER V.
LEONIDAS SWIPES, SHEEP DEALER.
The sun had barely crossed the meridian, when the emigrant party reached a small stream of water, and made midday halt. The animals were fed, dinner cooked and eaten, pipes smoked, and everything done in accordance with the time and circumstance.