“Seems mean, huh?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Westy forced himself to say. “Because what right did you have to do that? Gee, I don’t say you wanted to leave the deer suffering, I don’t say that.” He had been fully prepared to charge the offender with that but now that he was face to face with him, he found it hard to do so. He put the whole responsibility for his purpose on his conservation badge, in which Meadows seemed rather interested.
“What’s that thar next one?” he asked.
“That’s the pathfinder’s badge,” said Westy.
“Yer a pathfinder, huh?”
“Yes, I am,” said Westy, “but I guess maybe I’m not as good at it as you are. But anyway, if you know all about those things—shooting and the woods and all that—jiminies, you ought to know enough not to shoot game out of season. Maybe that deer was a very young one, or maybe——”
“Haow ’baout my young un?” Meadows asked calmly. “How ’baout that li’l gal yer seed?”
“Well, what about her?” demanded Westy angrily.
CHAPTER XI
WESTY MARTIN, SCOUT
“What makes yer say maybe I’m good at that sort of thing?” asked Luke Meadows.