"Oh!" murmured 'Tilda Jane. Here was one of the mysteries of nature that was quite beyond her comprehension. The dog hunted the deer, and the man hunted the dog. The deer apparently was the weaker one, and she must inquire into the matter.
"What does bad men kill deer for?" she asked, timidly.
"Haven't you ever eaten any deer meat?" asked the warden.
"I didn't know it was good to eat," she said, sadly.
"You haven't had any here in this cabin?"
"I guess not, unless I might 'a' eat it when I was fainty."
Lucas eyed her peculiarly, and the meaning of the warden's question and offensive manner burst upon her. "That's a good man," she said, indignantly, starting from her half-reclining position and pointing to Lucas. "I guess men that takes little girls out o' snow-banks don't kill deer."
Warden Perch laughed and rose from his seat. He had very little sentiment with regard to the animal creation. "I calculate we'd better be moving," he said, to the guide. "Don't suppose we'd see anything to keep us here, unless we'd hang on for the big snow-storm they say is coming, and that I expect you're waiting for," and he looked at Lucas.
"Me an' my sons," said the latter, coolly, "is on our way to David Morse's lumber camp. Two of his hands had to come out 'count o' sickness. We lay out to git thar this evenin'. Was late in startin' last night, an' camped here. We'll hev to git this leetle gal out, 'thout you might undertake it, seein' as you're makin' for outside, I s'pose."