"Because I shot him."
Tad chuckled.
"You will have a mighty hard time proving that. Listen! I tracked you here. I followed the trail right to this spot where it ends. Your story about seeing a man with a buck was not true. There is no trail beyond this place. You hoped we would go on, when you would have taken the doe from its hiding place and gone away with it. If you want a deer so badly, why don't you go shoot one? If you don't know how to shoot, come to our camp and I will divide this deer with you. But take it back with me I am going to, and I'd like to see you or anyone else stop me."
"That's the talk," cried Chunky. "That's what I call turkey talk. Why, you moccasin-chaser, I could eat you. I would if I weren't afraid of getting a pain in my stomach."
"Never mind, Stacy," rebuked Tad. "I will talk with this fellow. You, Mister Man, may think you are dealing with a couple of boys. We may be boys, but we know how to take care of ourselves. I am not making brags; I am simply warning you that we shall take the carcass back to camp with us, and if you interfere we shall have to defend ourselves."
"You touch that carcass and something will happen right smart, I reckon," warned the stranger, jerking his horse about and facing the fallen cypress.
"Chunky, you cover my retreat," ordered Tad in a low tone.
"You bet I will," answered the fat boy, chuckling happily. Stacy was the original trouble man. Trouble was meat and drink to him.
"Here, where you going?" shouted the now thoroughly enraged hunter as Tad turned his back on the man and walked briskly towards the cypress.
"I am going for my doe," flung back Butler.