The clear blue eye of the second hunter took in the situation at a glance. He readily saw that the man who stood so defiantly by the deer was not disposed to yield his claim to the animal without a struggle. So the second hunter determined upon a parley.
“Hello, stranger! I reckon we’re both after the same critter,” said the hunter who stood on the edge of the little glade.
“Yes; it ’pears so,” replied the other, who stood by the deer.
There was something apparently in the voice of the last comer that impressed the first favorably, for he dropped the butt of his rifle to the ground, though he still kept his foot upon the deer’s carcass.
“Well, stranger, we can’t both have the game. I think I hit him, an’ of course, as it is but nat’ral, you think so, too. So I reckon we’d better find out which one of us he belongs to; ’cause I don’t want him if my ball didn’t finish him, an’ of course, you don’t want him if he’s mine by right,” said the second hunter, approaching the other fearlessly.
“You’re right, by hookey!” cried the other, yielding to the influence of the good-humored tone of the other.
“Let me introduce myself, stranger, ’cos you seem to be a new-comer round hyer,” said the old hunter. “My name’s Daniel Boone; mayhap you’ve heard of me.”
“Well, I reckon I have!” exclaimed the other, in astonishment. “Thar’s few men on the border but what have heard on you. I’m right glad to see you, kurnel.”
“How may I call your name?” asked Boone, who had taken a fancy to the brawny stranger.
“Thar’s my mark—my handle,” said the stranger, pointing as he spoke to the name carved on the tree-trunk by which the deer had fallen; “that’s me.”