"So I'm lost," I concluded, "and don't know what to do. I daren't try to
find the sawmill. I won't go back to Holston just yet."
"An' why not, youngster? 'Pears to me you'd better make tracks from
Penetier."
I told him why, at which he laughed.
"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.
I showed him where the carcass of my deer had been devoured.
"Cougar. Thar's a big feller has the run of this canyon."
"Cougar? I thought it was a mountain-lion."
"Cougar, painter, panther, lion--all the same critter. An' if you leave him
alone he'll not bother you, but he's bad in a corner.
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