of his head, and returned it without a word. This done, he sank back to his former position and reverie.
“Excuse me, friend,” said I, moving rather impatiently, and determined to force a conversation upon him, “but I hope you will permit a few questions?”
“Go ahead, stranger,” he answered, gruffly.
“Are you traveling alone in this section?”
“I reckon I ar’, ’cept the hoss which ’ar a team.”
“Follow trapping and hunting, I presume?”
“What’s yer handle, stranger?” he suddenly asked, as he came to the upright position, and looking at me with more interest.
“William Relmond, from New Jersey.”
“Whar’s that place?”
“It is one of the Middle States, quite a distance from here.”
“What mought you be doin’ in these parts?”
“I and my friend out yonder are on our way to Oregon.”
“Umph! you’re pretty green ’uns.”
“Now I suppose you will have no objection to giving me your name.”
“My handle’s Bill Biddon, and I’m on my way to trappin’-grounds up country.”
“How far distant?”
“A heap; somewhar up ’bove the Yallerstone.”
“Do you generally go upon these journeys alone?”
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