"Then they lie!" I answered.
"Let me see that rifle!" he said, reaching out an enormous freckled fist to take it.
I saw through his game at last. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to extract a cartridge from the clip in the magazine and claim afterward that I had fired it away. Evidently he proposed to get me in his power, though for just what reason he was so determined to make use of me rather than any one else was not so clear.
"So I shot the buck, did I?" I asked.
"Those four natives say they saw you shoot it."
"Then it's mine?"
He nodded.
"It's heavy," I said, "but I expect I can carry it."
I took the buck by the hind legs and swung myself under it. It weighed more than a hundred pounds, but the African climate had not had time enough to sap my strength or destroy sheer pleasure in muscular effort.
"What's mine's my own!" I laughed. "You gave me something to eat after all! Good day, and good riddance!"