“Oh,” said Mark. “I say, we are beginning to grow.”
“Yes,” said Sir James; “we are getting to be a pretty good hunting party. What with ourselves, men and cattle, we shall have a good many mouths to feed.”
“But you don’t want to go back, father?”
“I did, thoroughly,” replied Sir James, “when we were down at that dreadful port.”
“But not now, uncle,” cried Dean.
“Certainly not, my boy. I am as eager to go forward as you boys, and I believe the doctor too. I think we are going to have a most delightful trip. But I say, this doesn’t look to me a very good specimen of the health of the country;” and he nodded his head in the direction of a very tall, extremely thin, bilious-looking individual who passed them, and whom they saw make his way right up to the dealer’s house.
“Talk about moustachios,” cried Mark. “Why, they look like those of a china figure in a tea-shop. I wonder what he calls himself.”
“And this one too,” said Dean, for they met a fine-looking, well built black with well-cut features, nose almost aquiline, and a haughty look of disdain in his frowning eyes, as, spear over shoulder, he stalked by the English party, not even deigning to turn to glance back.
“I should think he’s a chief,” said Mark; “a sort of king in his way.”
“Doesn’t cost him much a year for his clothes,” said Dean, laughing, for the big fellow’s costume was the simplest of the simple.