"But, Bob, see, they mean to take our game from us!" exclaimed the impetuous Sandy, who could not mistake the intentions of the French trappers.
One of the men was a tall, gaunt fellow, with the eye of a hawk. He seemed to be something of a leading spirit among his comrades. Bob felt that he possessed a cruel nature, and such a man, he believed, would only too gladly conspire with bloodthirsty Indians to surprise the new settlements of the English, and raze them to the ground.
This fellow thrust himself forward, and, scowling darkly, demanded in fairly good English:
"What for you say zat ze game is yours? Haf you not ze eye to see zat aftaire ze first fire ze buck he nevaire run far? And as for zat bullet you send, poof! it haf been waste in ze air!" and with that he snapped his fingers contemptuously, as though that settled the matter beyond dispute.
They were only a couple of half-grown boys, after all, and could hardly hold out against three burly men, accustomed to a strenuous life.
But Sandy was quick to see things; nor did he have the prudence to hold his tongue when he believed he was being wronged. No doubt he had been more or less influenced in his opinion of these French traders and voyageurs by what he had so often heard Pat O'Mara declare—that they were without exception the "scum of the earth, and fit only for treason, stratagem and spoils."
"But see, only one bullet has struck the deer in a place where it would down him—right here behind the shoulder!" he cried, pointing with a trembling hand at the blood on the red hair of the animal.
"Zat is so, young monsieur," said the Frenchman smoothly, and with a mocking bow; "and I assure you it was just zere zat I aim my rifle. Sacre! Andre, and you, Jules, tell me if zis be not one fine shot!"
"But," cried the indignant Sandy immediately, "I tell you that is impossible!"