“Quong cook well—better allee this? Cookee ploply.”
“Yes; everything you have done has been delicious. Here, go on with your supper.”
“Quong cook bleakfast?”
“Yes; I’ll ask Mr Raydon to let you. Here, go on.”
This pacified the little fellow, and he finished his meal quickly. He was busy clearing up when Mr Raydon came in, and I saw him glance sharply at the busy little fellow, whose tail was whisking about in all directions as he bobbed here and there, just as if he not been walking all day.
“Had a good supper?” said Mr Raydon. “That’s right. Now then come to my office, and let us have a talk.”
I followed him with some trepidation, Esau coming on nervously behind; and as we went outside, and then along to another building, catching sight of men and women at different places about the enclosure, our host went on to where I now saw that Gunson was waiting for us by a wooden house that had some show of comfort.
“Come in,” said our host, and he pointed to roughly-made, strong chairs, while he seated himself behind a deal desk.
The walls were covered with weapons, and heads and horns of the various animals that I presumed had fallen to his rifle were nailed up here and there, the white deal floor being nearly covered with skin rugs. These various objects of interest kept my eyes busy for a few moments, and then I was called back to my position by Mr Raydon’s voice, as he addressed Gunson.
“You are quite welcome,” he was saying, “and I dare say I could give you a little shooting if you were disposed to stay.”