"I shall see that country before long," Frank went on. "Father is going to California on business next year, and he has promised that if I will behave myself while I am here in Eaton, he will take me with him. If I like the looks of things as well as I think I shall, you'll never see me among civilized people again."
"Will you stay out there and become a hunter?" asked Leon.
"Yes, sir!"
"But what would you say to your father?"
"I shouldn't say anything to him. When I found a place that suited me, I would slip away from him, and let him come home without me."
"But you have lived in the city all your life, and what do you know about the Western country?"
"I could learn all about it, couldn't I? I am a pretty good shot with a rifle, and I should try to work myself in somewhere as post-hunter. Others have done it, and I don't see why I couldn't."
"What is a post-hunter?" asked Leon.
"Why, he is a man whose business it is to keep the garrison supplied with fresh meat. If the soldiers go out on an expedition to explore the country or hunt Indians, he goes with them and shoots all the game they want to eat. He is regularly employed and paid by the government. If I couldn't get a position like that, I'd hunt buffaloes for their hides. Why, only the other day I read in the paper that one old hunter out there had killed twelve hundred buffaloes in a single season. He sold their skins for a dollar apiece, too."
"Twelve hundred dollars a year!" exclaimed Leon.