“You’re game warden,” Proutt told him sullenly. “Nobody around here can make you do anything, less’n you’re a mind to. But I’ve told you what’s going on.”
Westley was sweating in the cold, and said pitifully: “Proutt, are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Proutt; and Westley cried: “What did you see?”
“I had a deer marked,” said Proutt slowly. “He’d been feeding under an old apple tree down there. I was there before day this morning, figuring to get a shot at him. Crep’ in quiet. Come day, I couldn’t see him. But after a spell I heard a smashing in the brush, and he come out through an open, and was away before I could shoot. And hot after him came Reck.”
“How far away?” Westley asked.
“Not more’n ten rod.”
“You couldn’t be sure.”
“Damn it, man, I know Reck. Besides, I wouldn’t want to say it was him, would I? He’s a grand dog.”
“What did you do?” Westley asked.
“Yelled at him to come in.”