“You must send Rattler away, Mr. Bancroft,” I said. “I have done nothing to him, yet he constantly seeks a quarrel with me. I am afraid he’ll make serious trouble in the camp. Send him away, or, if you prefer, I’ll go myself.”
“Oh, things aren’t as bad as that,” said Bancroft easily.
“Yes, they are, just as bad as that. Here are his knife and revolver; don’t let him have them, for I warn you they’d not be in good hands.”
Just as I spoke these words our three scouts joined us, and having heard the story of Rattler’s lying claim, and my counter-statement, they set off at once to examine the bear’s carcass to settle the dispute. They returned in a short time, and as soon as he was within hailing distance Sam called out: “What idiocy it was to shoot a grizzly and then run! If a man doesn’t intend making a fight, then what on earth does he shoot for? Why doesn’t he leave the bear in peace? You can’t treat grizzlies like poodle-dogs. Poor Rollins paid dear for it, though. Now, who killed that bear, did you say?”
“I did,” cried Rattler, who had come to. “I killed him with my gun.”
“Well, that agrees; that’s all right. The bear was shot.”
“Do you hear that, men? Sam Hawkins has decided for me,” cried Rattler triumphantly.
“Yes, for you,” said Sam. “You shot him, and took off the tip of his ear, and such a loss naturally ended the grizzly, ha! ha! ha! If you shot again it went wide of the mark, for there’s no other gun-shot on him. But there are four true knife-thrusts, two above the heart and two in it; who gave him those?”
“I did,” I said.
“You alone?”