CHAPTER XV.
"That was a good shot, Mit! Your old father couldn't have done it better." Such was the comment made by Tezcot, the hunter, on the result of a well directed arrow from a bow in the hands of Mitla, the "Mountain Princess."
They were out on the mountain, hunting. Tezcot often went on short excursions of the kind to please Mitla, and it gave him genuine pleasure to do so. Being very kindly disposed, as he was, it afforded him much gratification to make others happy, especially his children.
"He's a fine specimen of his kind," he continued, holding the bird up before him, "and will increase your stock of plumage, and, as well, add another feather to your archer's cap."
The prize was a most beautiful pheasant; and for a moment Mitla's eyes were bright with excitement, but as she gazed upon the lovely bird, lying dead and bleeding at her feet, where her father had carelessly thrown it, the woman's heart within her was touched with feelings of compunction, and she said:
"Father, is it well to kill such beautiful birds? My heart is sad because I have done this."
"It's all the same, child, whether the bird is beautiful or ugly; the one suffers equally with the other, when it comes to that," philosophized he. "Hello, Menke! Is that you?" he continued, addressing a hunter, who just then came up to where they were.
"Wull, yes, it's me, ef I know myself; an' think I should, for some folks do say that Menke an' me are right sociable," jestingly replied the newcomer, a well known mountaineer hunter, who was much addicted to talking to himself, to which addiction his remark referred.
"That ye are, Menke, we all know," answered Tezcot, appreciating the hunter's reference to his peculiar habit, "but it doesn't make ye any less friendly toward the rest of us."