"I give in, but think I'll be up to you after a little practice."
About half an hour afterward, as they were walking along, Dernor, by a mere accident, happened to look at the pan of his rifle and saw that the priming had been removed. A moment's reflection convinced him that this had been done by Zeke Hunt, not accidentally, but on purpose. The hunter managed to reprime without being noticed, and he made a vow that this apparent lubber should henceforth be watched with a lynx-eye.
They had gone scarcely a half-mile further, when the latter came up beside Edith, and remarked that he had been taken sick.
"Don't you feel able to walk?" she asked.
"I'm dreadful afeard I shall have to ax you to pause for a while," he said, manifesting that peculiar repugnance to receiving kindness, which, singularly enough is manifested more or less by every person in similar circumstances.
"What's the matter?" gruffly asked Dernor, who was still meditating upon the incident we have mentioned above.
"Sick," groaned Zeke Hunt, apparently in great misery.
"What has made you sick?"
"I don't know; allers was considered delicate."
"How do you feel?"