“Wal, I reckon you can stay with me fer a spell. My camp's in the head
of this canyon.”
“Oh, thank you, that'll be fine!” I exclaimed. My great good luck filled
me with joy. “Do you stay on the mountain?”
“Be'n here goin' on eighteen years, youngster. Mebbe you've heerd my
name. Hiram Bent.”
“Are you a hunter?”
“Wal, I reckon so, though I'm more a trapper. Here, you pack my gun.”
With that he drew his knife and set to work on the deer. It was
wonderful to see his skill. In a few cuts and strokes, a ripping of the
hide and a powerful slash, he had cut out a haunch. It took even less
work for the second. Then he hung the rest of the deer on a snag, and
wiped his knife and hands on the grass.
“Come on, youngster,” he said, starting up the canyon.