"Geraldine! What did you do!" she exclaimed.
"Yes," said Scott, annoyed, "what the deuce have you been up to now? Miller is perfectly right; he's an old hunter and knows his business, and when he comes to me and complains that you take fool risks, he's doing his duty!"
He turned to Duane:
"That idiot girl," he said, nodding toward his abashed sister, "knocked over a boar last month, ran up to look at his tusks, and was hurled into a snowdrift by the beast, who was only creased. He went for Miller, too, and how he and my sister ever escaped without a terrible slashing before Geraldine shot the brute, nobody knows.... There's his head up there—the wicked-looking one over the fireplace."
"That's not good sportsmanship," said Duane gravely.
Geraldine hung her head, colouring.
"I know it; I mean to keep cool; truly, I do. But things happen so quickly——"
"Why are you afraid Miller is going to complain?" interrupted her brother.
"Scott—it wasn't anything very much—that is, I didn't think so. You'd have done it—you know it's a point of honour to track down wounded game."
She turned to Duane: