Next day, they were all aroused from sleep by the sudden loud barking of dogs, Glenarvan got up forthwith. Two magnificent pointers, admirable specimens of English hunting dogs, were bounding in front of the little wood, into which they had retreated at the approach of the travelers, redoubling their clamor.
“There is some station in this desert, then,” said Glenarvan, “and hunters too, for these are regular setters.”
Paganel was just about to recount his nocturnal experiences, when two young men appeared, mounted on horses of the most perfect breed, true “hunters.”
The two gentlemen dressed in elegant hunting costume, stopped at the sight of the little group camping in gipsy fashion. They looked as if they wondered what could bring an armed party there, but when they saw the ladies get out of the wagon, they dismounted instantly, and went toward them hat in hand. Lord Glenarvan came to meet them, and, as a stranger, announced his name and rank.
The gentlemen bowed, and the elder of them said, “My Lord, will not these ladies and yourself and friends honor us by resting a little beneath our roof?”
“Mr.—,” began Glenarvan.
“Michael and Sandy Patterson are our names, proprietors of Hottam Station. Our house is scarcely a quarter of a mile distant.”
“Gentlemen,” replied Glenarvan, “I should not like to abuse such kindly-offered hospitality.”
“My Lord,” returned Michael Patterson, “by accepting it you will confer a favor on poor exiles, who will be only too happy to do the honors of the wilds.”
Glenarvan bowed in token of acquiescence.