The hunter stopped, looked my way, approached to within a few feet of the cabin, and said a cheery "Good morning." I responded in a mood still more cheery.
"What you doin' up there—smoking? Had breakfast, I reckon."
"No, haven't cooked yet this morning," I returned.
"Glad t' hear that—haven' et yet myself. Got 'nough to go round?" he asked, shifting a cud of tobacco from one side to the other.
"Don't know about that," I said. "You'll have to ask the boss—he's inside."
As the rugged looking huntsman approached the cabin door, I held my breath, but I rose to my feet when I actually saw the hunter's hat rise on his uplifted hair as he looked into the cabin door. With the quickness and coolness that come to one habituated to solitary life in the wilds, he put his Sharp's rifle to his shoulder, aimed and fired. There was a second report, followed by a tremendous thud, and the sound of something within struggling for life and vengeance. The hunter had no sooner fired than he dodged, and stood ready for a second charge; but that was not needed.
"Come down," he said to me with a grim smile. "I'm boss here now."
I slid off the roof, and Coonskin, to the man's surprise, appeared from his lofty perch; then we introduced ourselves. While I thanked the hunter for his kind offices and welcomed him to breakfast, Coonskin began to prepare the meal. Our guest explained that he was a bee-hunter.
"When the bear meets the bee-hunter searchin' for a bee tree, brother Bruin says, 'Ahem! Excuse me, but I'm workin' this 'ere side of the trail, you just take t'other side.' Then the bee-hunter says: 'Pardon, my friend, Mr. Bear, but I'm workin' both sides of this particular trail, just throw up your paws.'"
The bee-hunter chuckled over the practical joke played on him, and said as it came from a tenderfoot he'd take it in good part; but if it had been a backwoodsman that played such a game he'd settle with the bear and the man in the same fashion. His words and manner startled me.