"Oh, I thought it best yesterday afternoon to shoot a buck," said Fred, airily; "for the main thing for us to do in this part of the world is to look out that we don't starve to death."
"You shot a buck, eh? How was it?"
Thereupon the younger lad gave the particulars of the incident. Hank listened attentively, and when he learned of the part played by Motoza, the vagrant Sioux, his interest deepened.
"So that scamp is in the mountains? I s'pected it; he claimed to have shot the buck and wouldn't divide till Jack took a hand. Why did you let him have any of it?"
"Because he had the right. I thought it was my shot that killed the game, but the bullet only grazed one of his antlers; it was Motoza who killed the buck, and he was entitled to him. Have you been to breakfast?"
"Yes," replied the veteran, whose manner showed that he was displeased with the story he had just heard.
"Hank," said Jack, "why did Motoza give us any of the venison?"
"I don't know," was the unexpected reply; "I'd give a good deal to know."
"Do you suppose he was frightened when he found there were two instead of one to face?"
"It looks that way, but I can't believe it. The Sioux is a scamp mean enough to do anything; but he has grit, and I don't believe that two young tenderfeet like you could scare him."