“Humph!” grunted Zeke. “Let’s go to camp.”
“How far is it from here?” asked Guy.
“A matter of five mile, mebbe. I got tired of waitin’, an’ come up to see if thar was anybody goin’ to fetch me any tobacker.”
“Five miles?” echoed Guy. “I am almost tired out with riding, and should be glad to walk if the horses did not go so fast.”
“Let ’em go,” said Zeke. “I’ll walk with you. The mar’ knows the way, an’ the other’ll foller.”
Guy was glad to act upon this suggestion. While he was dismounting, the hunter picked up his rifle and examined it with a critical eye. Guy was astonished at the ease with which he drew it up to his face, and the steadiness with which he held it while glancing along the barrel.
“This your’n?” asked Zeke.
“Yes; I bought it in Frisco—paid fifteen dollars for it, and haven’t had time to shoot it yet. Suppose you try it, and see if it is a good one. Here are the bullets, powder and caps in my game-bag. It carries a ball large enough to kill a buffalo—doesn’t it?”
“Sartin.”
“Well, I hope you will give me a chance to try it on one some day, will you?”