“Don’t you like it?” was asked, as he sat down the glass, with a wry face.
“Cain’t say that I really love the taste of it. It’s most too sweetish to suit this child, and I’m afeard the crittur is never gwine to quit kickin’.”
“Peter, give the old man some brandy, or any thing he may choose to call for. You said, my friend, that you wished to ask us about something that you are on the hunt of. We will be glad to help you.”
“I allowed, bein’s ye’re mounting men, ye mought p’raps know suthin’ of a young chap named Fred Wilder.”
A young man in the group gave a slight start, and laid his hand on the shoulder of the gentleman who was about to reply.
“There are several men of that name in the city,” he said. “Did the person you speak of ever pass by any other name?”
“The Injuns called him Silverspur, and he was ginerally called by that name in the mountings; but I allow he wouldn’t wear it down hyar in the settlements. Thar’s me, now; I’ve been called Old Blaze so long, and nothin’ else, that I ain’t raally sure whether I’ve got any other name.”
“What sort of a man was he?”
“Wal, as fur looks, he was what is called a good-lookin’ man, though I never took on much about his good looks, or thought they war any thin’ to brag on. He was about your hight, and with jist such eyes, and nose and mouth the same to a dot. Durned ef you don’t look a heap like him.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”