"I—I killed him," he cried, a waver in his voice.
Hank looked up quickly, his lips moving.
"Eh?" he asked shortly.
"I killed him," declared Joe again, almost plaintively.
"Ah, so you did, young 'un, and a mighty fine shot it war. But you ain't going to tell me that you're sorry? In course in a way one is sorry when one wipes a critter out, but——"
"It's awful!" groaned Joe, huge depression upon him.
Hank scrambled to his feet, dragged our hero to his, and took him away from the wall where the moon's rays fell brightly upon both of them.
"See here," he cried angrily, though those who knew the little man best would have declared that his anger was artificial, "see here, young feller; am I less valuable to you than that 'ere cuss? Eh? You ain't got an answer. You don't seem to reckon that ef you wasn't to shoot, the critter would come right in and kill me or you. Ef it's like that, and you value him higher, why, I'm for moving."
Very slowly he began to clamber on to the top of the wall. He dropped his legs over to the far side, and seemed to be in the act of departing from the fort. Then Joe came to his senses; he caught the little trapper by the fringed sleeve and dragged him back. Indeed, using his strength and height, he gripped the little man and lifted him bodily. He was smiling when Hank at length broke free.
"It's over," he said; "I'm sorry."