CHAPTER IV. THE TRAPPER AND THE ARTISAN.
'HELLO, YOUNKER! what in thunder yer tryin' to make?'
Johnny Brainerd paused and looked up, not a little startled by the
strange voice and the rather singular figure which stood before him.
It was a hunter in half civilized costume, his pants tucked into his
immense boot tops, with revolvers and rifles at his waist, and a
general negligent air, which showed that he was at home in whatever
part of the world he chose to wander.
He stood with his hand in his pocket, chewing his quid, and
complacently viewing the operations of the boy, who was not a little
surprised to understand how he obtained entrance into his shop.
'Stopped at the house to ax whar old Washoe Pete keeps his hotel,'
replied the stranger, rightly surmising the query which was agitating
him, 'and I cotched a glimpse of yer old machine. Thought I'd come in
and see what in blazes it war. Looks to me like a man that's gwine to
run by steam.'
'That's just what it is,' replied the boy, seeing there was no use in
attempting to conceal the truth from the man.
'Will it do it?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Don't think you mean to lie, younker, but I don't believe any such
stuff as that.
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