“does luke meadows live here?” westy asked.

“yes, sirrr,” said the little girl with a strong roll of her r’s.

“could i see him?”

“i reckon you can,” said the little girl, then without going to the trouble of entering the house, she called, “dad, thar’s a boy wants to see you.”

these were the first samples westy had of that characteristic way of saying reckon and thar which he had soon to associate with new friends in a free, vast, far-off region. it occurred to him that if meadows wished to lie low, as the saying is, it might go hard with the little girl who was so ready to admit his presence to a stranger.

the appearance and reputation of barrett’s, as well as the unlawful shooting, had conjured up a picture in westy’s mind which had made him apprehensive about his reception. and now he felt that the little girl might also feel something of the hunter’s displeasure.

his kindly fear for her was quite superfluous, for presently there appeared from within the house a youngish man who absently, as it seemed, placed his arm around the child’s shoulder and drew her toward him as he waited for westy to make his business known.

the man was tall and raw-boned and wore nothing but queer-looking moccasins, corduroy trousers and a gray flannel shirt. his cheek-bones were high and he was as brown as a mulatto. what caught westy and somewhat disconcerted him, was the stranger’s eyes, which were gray and of a clearness and keenness which he had never seen in the eyes of any human being before. they were the eyes of the forest and the plains, the eyes that see and read and understand where others see not. the eyes that speak of silent and lonely places and bespeak a competence which only rugged nature can impart. such eyes daniel boone may have had.

at all events, they disconcerted westy and knocked the beginning of his fine speech clean out of his head. the man was calm and patient, the little girl wriggled playfully in his strong hold, and westy stood like a fool and said nothing. then he found himself.

“are you lu—— are you mr. luke meadows?” he asked.

“reckon i am,” drawled the man.

“well, then,” said westy, gathering courage, “i came to tell you that i know what you did in the woods because i—because i was the one that was there—i was the one that shouted.”

“yer seed me, youngster?” the man drawled, not angrily.

“no, i didn’t see you,” said westy, “but gee, you don’t have to see a person to find them out. you shot a deer and you know as well as i do it isn’t the season. and then you hid your gun—i guess you thought i was a game warden or something. but i found it, i’ll tell you that much and i saw your name on it.

“do you know what you made me do?” he added, becoming vehement as his anger gave him courage. “you made me kill a deer, that’s what you made me do! you made me kill a deer after i promised i’d never shoot at anything but a target—that’s what you made me do,” he shouted in boyish anger. “you didn’t even kill it, you didn’t! now you see what you did, sneaking and shooting game out of season! now you see what you made me do!”

there was something so na?ve and boyish in putting the injury on personal grounds that even meadows could not repress a smile.

“i made a promise to my father, that’s what i did,” said westy indignantly.

the man neither confessed nor denied his guilt. it seemed strange to westy that he did not deny it since criminals always protest their innocence. at the moment the man’s chief concern seemed to be a certain interest in westy. he just stood listening, the while holding the little girl close to him and playfully ruffling her hair. perhaps his dubious standing with the authorities made him lukewarm about protestations of innocence.

“waal?” was all he said.

“and you’re not going to get away with it either,” said westy.

meadows drew a tinfoil package from his trousers pocket, took some tobacco from it and replaced the package in his pocket. westy saw that the package was a new one and that it bore the mechanics delight label.

“you left the other package in the woods,” westy said triumphantly, “and that’s how i happened to find your gun.”

“yer left the gun thar, youngster?”

“yes, i did,” said westy angrily, “and i know where it is all right.” then the true westy martin got in a few words. “the only reason i came here first,” he said, “was because i didn’t want to seem sneaky. i didn’t want you to think that i had to go and get the—the constables or sheriffs—i didn’t want you to think i was afraid to face you alone. i didn’t want to go and tell on you till i saw you first, that’s all.”

“waal, naow yer see me,” drawled meadows.

“and i’m going to do what i ought to do, no matter what,” westy flared up.

“s’posin’ yer run an’ play,” said meadows to the little girl. then, as she moved away. “an’ what might yer ought ter do?” he asked quietly.

“you admit you shot that deer?” westy asked. “jiminies, you can’t deny it,” he added boyishly.

“waal?” said meadows.

“do you see this badge?” said westy, pulling the sleeve of his scout shirt around so as to display the several merit badges that were sewn there. “that top one,” he said in a boyish tone of mingled pride and anger, “is a conservation badge; it’s a scout badge.”

“yer one of them scaouts, huh?”

“yes, i am and i won that badge. it means if i know of anybody breaking the game laws, i’ve got to report it, that’s what it means. i’ve got to do it even if it seems mean——”

“seems mean, huh?”

“no, it doesn’t,” westy forced himself to say. “because what right did you have to do that? gee, i don’t say you wanted to leave the deer suffering, i don’t say that.” he had been fully prepared to charge the offender with that but now that he was face to face with him, he found it hard to do so. he put the whole responsibility for his purpose on his conservation badge, in which meadows seemed rather interested.

“what’s that thar next one?” he asked.

“that’s the pathfinder’s badge,” said westy.

“yer a pathfinder, huh?”

“yes, i am,” said westy, “but i guess maybe i’m not as good at it as you are. but anyway, if you know all about those things—shooting and the woods and all that—jiminies, you ought to know enough not to shoot game out of season. maybe that deer was a very young one, or maybe——”

“haow ’baout my young un?” meadows asked calmly. “how ’baout that li’l gal yer seed?”

“well, what about her?” demanded westy angrily.