“Thar; he apologized. He says he’s sorry. He kain’t say no fairer then that, kin he? Shake hands, Jule. Durn me ef I’m goin’ to hev a man with me thet holds a grudge like thet thar. Shake hands!”
“He needn’t aff he don’t vants to,” added Jan. “I ain’t ’fraid of him anyway. Put I pe villing to make vrents.”
Jules sullenly extended his hand.
“I’d never do it if it was not for Ben,” he said. “He’s been kind to me. But if you ever lay a hand on me again I will kill you.”
“No growlin’,” said Ben. “Durn it, kain’t a man know enough to make up with a feller and hev no back talk? Come; hyar’s lots of work. We’ve got to cut up these buffler. Use yer knife on thet, not on a human.”
“Shall we cut up the old one here?” said Jules, throwing off the appearance of anger, although his cheeks glowed yet.
“No. I reckon we won’t want any of him but the hump and marrer-bones. It’s jest as Jan says. It’s his buffler anyhow.”
“Mine!” ejaculated Jan.
“Yes, yours. Didn’t ye bring him hyar yerself, say? Of course he’s yer own. I’ll show ye how to git his hump. Durn me ef ye don’t take up the business of takin’ the pelt off a critter right handy.”
“I vas a putcher,” said Jan.