"He Is A Strange Being," I Said; "I Must Find Out Who And What He Is."
In the afternoon an old soldier, called Layton, who had served
during the American war, and got a grant of land about a mile in
the rear of our location, came in to trade for a cow.
Now, this
Layton was a perfect ruffian; a man whom no one liked, and whom all
feared. He was a deep drinker, a great swearer, in short, a perfect
reprobate; who never cultivated his land, but went jobbing about
from farm to farm, trading horses and cattle, and cheating in a
pettifogging way. Uncle Joe had employed him to sell Moodie a young
heifer, and he had brought her over for him to look at. When he
came in to be paid, I described the stranger of the morning; and
as I knew that he was familiar with every one in the neighbourhood,
I asked if he knew him.
"No one should know him better than myself," he said; "'tis old
Brian B - -, the still-hunter, and a near neighbour of your'n. A
sour, morose, queer chap he is, and as mad as a March hare! He's
from Lancashire, in England, and came to this country some twenty
years ago, with his wife, who was a pretty young lass in those days,
and slim enough then, though she's so awful fleshy now. He had lots
of money, too, and he bought four hundred acres of land, just at the
corner of the concession line, where it meets the main road.
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