“If that thing does come,” finally spoke old Stebbins, in his deliberate but emphatic manner, “and I can get the chance, I’m going to put a rifle-ball into it, smash and clean.”
“S’posen it doesn’t hurt it.”
“That’s onpossible.”
“Dunno,” persisted Black Tom, “from what we’ve hearn of it, they say it don’t mind our guns.”
“Ef it can stand a shot from my gun, then thar ain’t no use in talking,” was the response of the old hunter.
“Don’t you mind what Stumpy Sam told us about it?” asked Stebbins, some minutes afterward.
“I didn’t hear what he told you; you see’d him first.”
“It was two years ago, come the middle of trappin’ season, when Sam said he and three other fellers see’d him. It warn’t a great ways from hyar, and they war riding up one side of a ridge, when jist as they reached the top they met the thing, coming up t’other side. They had a good sight of it, and the whole four fired right into it.”
“Wal?”
“It give a sort of a snuff, turned tail toward ’em, and walked away, as though they hadn’t done nothin’ more nor sneeze at it.”