“The joke came near to being on us,” she said. “Kid, put up your gun. A tenderfoot who has enough 14 nerve and no more sense than to draw when you have the drop on him, you’ve hazed him enough.”
Gowan sullenly reloaded his Colt’s and replaced it in its holster.
“That’s right,” said Knowles; but he turned sharply upon the offender. “Look here, Mr. Ashton, if that’s your name––there’s still the matter of this yearling. Shooting stock in a cattle country isn’t any laughing matter.”
“But, I say,” replied the hunter, “I didn’t know it was your cow, really I didn’t.”
“Doesn’t make any difference whose brand was on the calf. Even if it had been a maverick––”
“But that’s it!” interrupted Ashton. “I didn’t see the brand––only glimpses of the beast in the chaparral. I thought it a deer until after it fell and I came up to look.”
“You shore did,” jeered Gowan. “That’s why you was hurrying to yank off the hide. No chance of proving a case on you with the brand down in Deep Cañon.”
“Indeed no,” replied Ashton, drawing a trifle closer to the girl’s stirrup. “You are quite wrong––quite. I was dressing the animal to take it to my camp. Because I had mistaken it for a deer was no reason why I should leave it to the coyotes.”
“What business you got hunting deer out of season?” questioned Knowles. 15
“Pardon me, but are you the game warden?” asked Ashton, with a supercilious smile.