"You're only afeard I might beat you, that's all."
This remark so nettled the hunter that he resolved to gratify his disagreeable companion.
"Put up your mark, then," said he, "and as far off as you choose."
The countryman walked to a tree somewhat over a hundred yards distant, and with his knife clipped off a small piece of bark, leaving a gleaming spot, an inch or two in diameter.
"You fire first," said he, as he came back.
The hunter drew up his rifle, and pausing hardly a second to take aim, buried the bullet fairly in the center of the target.
"Whew! that's derned good; don't believe I can beat it much; but I'll try."
The gun was quickly reloaded, and, after taking aim and adjusting it nearly a dozen times, Zeke Hunt fired, missing the tree altogether. As he ran to ascertain the result of his shot, instead of handing the rifle to Dernor, he carried it, apparently without thinking, with him. When he had carefully examined the mark, he proceeded to reload it, before returning. This was so natural an occurrence, that the hunter received his weapon without noticing it.
"Want to fire again?" asked the countryman.
"No, it isn't worth while."