“Oh! that’s my bullet!” exclaimed Step Hen, hardly comprehending what a storm his words might bring about their ears; “and just as you said, Thad, I hit him in the side where his heart lies. That would have killed him in a short time, I just guess, don’t you, Thad?”
But Thad did not make any answer. He was keeping his eyes on the three men, even while dropping the spread-out bullet into his pocket to show it to Eli and Jim and Allan when they returned to camp, as proof that the glory of killing the fine six-pronged buck really belonged to Step Hen.
The giant actually gave a little chuckle. Evidently he admired the nerve shown by this half-grown lad; for like most big men Cale Martin could on occasion, exhibit a sense of generosity toward those smaller than himself.
With just that brief chance to see what the three poachers looked like, Thad was able to size them up along different lines. He believed that Si and Ed were both shallow brained bullies, with revengeful natures; but that Cale Martin, while known as a desperate man, was really more so through his association with such rascals as these, than for any other cause. And Thad chanced to know just why he had doubly earned this reputation for ugliness during the last year or so; Jim Hasty’s running away with his little girl, Lina, had been the last straw that broke the camel’s back; since it had made Old Cale feel reckless, and as though he cared no longer for anything in this world.
“What d’ye think of that, Si,” burst out the other fellow, who had not spoken, up to now; “the pesky critter is aclaimin’ as how his friend sent that bullet through ther buck’s ribs, w’en we all know ’twar from yer gun.”
The shorter poacher gritted his teeth, and looked daggers at Thad. He even made a significant movement with his heavy rifle, which the boy saw was of the repeating pattern, and had the hammer raised at that moment.
“I doan’t stand for any sech talk ez that,” he declared, with savage energy; “an’ ef ther cubs knows what is good fur ’em, they’ll turn tail, an’ mosey outen this here region some quick. Scat naow! an’ be mighty keerful haow yeou start tew claimin’ a deer agin, what another man shot. It’s sumpin that ain’t goin’ ter be allowed up here in the woods. I gives yeou fair warnin’ tew change base, an’ clar out.”
“Come on, Thad, let’s move along!” exclaimed Step Hen, who was white in the face, and trembling more or less.
Of course, the patrol leader was far too smart to think of trying to defy that ugly lot. At the same time Thad showed no sign of fear as he turned and gave the bully of the woods one sneering look, as though plainly telling him what he thought. Indeed, it seemed to stir the ire of the man who claimed to have killed the deer, for with a snort, he started to throw up his gun, as if bent on threatening mischief, unless the boys ran in a hurry.
But it was the hand of the giant that grasped the gun, and turned it aside.