One of his comrades accordingly stooped, and threw the dead animal over on the other side; when it was plainly seen that there was no mark of a wound in the forequarter.
"I knew it!" cried Sandy, triumphantly, as he grinned at the baffled Frenchman.
"There you see, Lacroix," observed Kenton, with a nod and a smile, "the lead that brought this buck low came from the right; and this lad says he and his brother were on that quarter, while you stood on the left. But thar's a fairer way to decide the truth than that. Hand me your gun, Lacroix; I promise that you shall have it again."
The French trapper looked daggers at the young ranger; but the English were now five to three French, and he knew the temper of Daniel Boone's friend too well to test it to the breaking point.
Accordingly he reached out his discharged rifle, one of those long-barrelled affairs that carried so deadly a messenger, when properly aimed.
"Bagstock, dig for the bullet that killed the buck," Kenton went on.
Sandy's face was wreathed in a huge grin; for he instantly saw what the woodsman had in mind.
"Now you will learn the truth, M. Lacroix," he said, exultantly, as the burly forest ranger, laying his rifle aside, took out his hunting knife, and commenced to hack at the side of the deer, following the course of the bullet.
The French trapper did not appear to be at all pleased with the probable outcome. Truth to tell, he had already discounted the result in advance, for he knew full well that himself and comrades had not the first claim on the buck.
Presently Bagstock uttered an ejaculation of satisfaction, and, picking something up, handed it to Simon Kenton. It was the bullet that had brought down the deer, a trifle dented from striking the animal's bones, but apparently in good shape for the purposes of identification.