Then in a few words she narrated the adventure.
“Rather strange,” the big Scot rumbled. “But see here, young man, you are an American, are you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then how is it that you are hunting with bow and arrow?”
“It’s a bit of a fad, I suppose,” said Johnny, not wishing to overplay his part. “But even in America we feel that some traditions and arts should be preserved. There’s a lot of sport in really shooting straight and true with one of man’s most ancient weapons. Don’t you think so?”
“I do!” the old man’s answer was emphatic. “And, furthermore, I believe the world would be better off if it had never smelled gunpowder. We as a generation—”
“But, Grandfather,” the girl broke in, “he has not eaten for three days.”
“No? Is that true?”
“Well,—nearly,” Johnny admitted.
“There’ll be time for talking by the evening campfire. Faye, bring out the broiler. I’ll stir up the fire. We’ll have you a broiled venison steak you’ll not soon forget.