“And you had the start of me, too,” continued Oscar. “I followed your trail until I was tired out, and then, happening to recall what you said regarding the habit a mule-deer has of doubling on his trail, I looked toward the top of a bluff a little distance off and there he was. That’s the way I got him. What was the reason you didn’t answer my signals?”
“Look a-here, perfessor,” said the guide, drawing the other stool up on the opposite side of the fire and seating himself, “what be ye tryin’ to get through yerself?”
“Nothing at all. I am simply trying to make you understand, that, while you were following the deer, I got the start of you.”
“Whar did ye shoot him?” asked Big Thompson.
“About four miles up the valley. And you were there, too, for I saw your trail.”
“Not much, ye didn’t!” exclaimed the guide, who was very much surprised. “Kase why—I was five miles down the valley.”
“You were?” said Oscar, now beginning to be surprised himself. “Then there’s another hunter about here.”
“Mebbe it was a bar track ye seed?” suggested the guide.
“Don’t you suppose I can tell the print of a moccasin from a bear track?” inquired Oscar. “Of course, you don’t know who he is.”
“In course not; but I’ll find out to-morrer, while yer fixin’ up that black-tail. I allers like to know who my neighbors be. I know this much, howsomever. If this yere valley is git tin’ settled up, it aint no place fur me an’ you. Somebody’ll have to be movin’; but it won’t be me an’ the perfessor,” he added to himself.