"I set off from Windermere driving a pack-horse in front of me."
"I see, and the horse went back to Windermere? They'll send it along with the mail or our next patrol. I'll tell Grab-a-root, the Quartermaster."
"I say, you've rum names in this country—Grab-a-root, Dandy, Mutiny, Tribulation, Arrapahoe Bill, The Blackguard. Does everybody have a nickname?"
"No; only men who are pretty well liked—or hated."
"Have I one?"
"Oh, you're only a Tenderfoot,—you don't count."
The youngster sighed. "They called me Charlie at home; but here—I see now."
"Poor old Charlie!"
"And Mr. Burrows up yonder?"
"The Lunatic, eh? We must be getting on."