SERGEANT WILLIAM PATTERSON. 305 



for yourself; this thing of beauty is a personal matter. 

 Some o' them squaws might take a fancy to you, for they 

 ain't got the first bit of taste. I've seen men that has 

 married squaws, but I don't think I ever saw an ugly old 

 squaw that would marry you. I'll be obliged if you will 

 shut up." 



Put yourself in my place! As the host, I did not 

 fancy this sort of talk; but what could I do? Although 

 Mr. Knight was Bill's landlord as well as mine, I knew 

 that it would only need a word more for Bill in viola- 

 tion of all rules of hospitality, in which he was not well 

 read to take the old man by the collar and trousers, and 

 set him outside. I turned the tide by telling of Henry 

 Neaville's frozen feet, and we got along harmoniously 

 until the clock said it was time for congratulations on 

 the new year. As the good-nights were said Bill 

 whispered that we should have a deer hunt on the first 

 day of the new year, and after the rest were gone we 

 sat down over our pipes and arranged for it. 



A couple of inches of snow fell early in the night on 

 top of the old snow, which was about the same depth, but 

 not hard. The new year of 1857 opened still and mild, 

 without being bright; as perfect a day for a hunt as it 

 was possible to have. Every rabbit that had ventured 

 out since midnight left evidence of its wanderings, and 

 we saw where the quail had huddled on the ground and 

 had risen in the morning. The partridge left a broad 

 trail until it tired of wading and took to a tree. All 

 these things were noted as we went off to the northwest 

 to strike the Grant River. Bill wanted to talk about 

 "Old Poppy Knight," and I tried to keep him still. Two 

 winters in the woods had the usual effect of making a 

 fellow think more than he talks. We were on a ridge 

 and were about one hundred feet apart. 



