“D––n you!” he stammered. “What do you mean by that? What in–––”
But Jabe, suddenly calm, turned and eyed him with a steadying gaze.
“Quit all that, now!” he retorted crisply. “I knowed jest what I was doin’! I knowed that bull when he were a leetle, awkward staggerer. I brung him up on a bottle; an’ I loved him. He skun out four years ago. I’d most ruther ’ave seen you shot than that ther’ bull, I tell ye!”
The Famous Hunter looked sour; but he was beginning to understand the situation, and his anger 151 died down. As he considered, Jabe, too, began to see the other side of the situation.
“I’m right sorry to disapp’int ye so!” he went on apologetically. “We’ll hev to call off this deal atween you an’ me, I reckon. An’ there ain’t goin’ to be no more shooting over this range, if I kin help it––an’ I guess I kin!––till I kin git that ther’ white-slashed bull drove away back over on to the Upsalquitch, where the hunters won’t fall foul of him! But I’ll git ye another guide, jest as good as me, or better, what ain’t got no particular friends runnin’ loose in the woods to bother ’im. An’ I’ll send ye ’way down on to the Sevogle, where ther’s as big heads to be shot as ever have been. I can’t do more.”
“Yes, you can!” declared the Famous Hunter, who had quite recovered his self-possession.
“What is it?” asked Jabe doubtfully.
“You can pardon me for losing my temper and swearing at you!” answered the Famous Hunter, holding out his hand. “I’m glad I didn’t knock over your magnificent friend. It’s good for the breed that he got off. But you’ll have to find me something peculiarly special now, down on that Sevogle.”