'Up to, eh?' remarked the hunter slowly, with evident enjoyment, as he wiped the knife. 'What are you doing anyhow, lying around there half asleep? Good sort of buck killer you are!'
The young man pulled himself up. 'You've been fooling.'
'I'm a clever chap, then. Reckon I could knock you over in that shape? Well, well, to think of a strong young fellow like you being beaten by a harmless sort of half dead beast.'
'You don't say it was the deer?' asked the young man, still dazed.
The hunter laughed. 'That's what. You had the fever, and as strong as I've ever seen it take a man.'
'Well—that beats all,' said Winton, hanging on each syllable.
'Told you it wasn't well to wound and not kill. Guess you won't fix another for quite a time.'
'How's that? Lots of them around, aren't there?'
'I reckon,' said the other drily. 'Question is whether you'll be able to shoot when you sight one. It'll worry you a bit. I'm thinking.'
Winton stretched his long limbs. 'It takes me all my time to understand this. Course I've heard of the fever—lots of times, but I didn't put much on hunters' talk—'