Читать книгу Trail and Trading Post; or, The Young Hunters of the Ohio онлайн

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“Right ye air, boys,” answered the old frontiersman. “I wasn’t quite quick enough fer ye, was I? Thought as how thet meat war mine fer sartin.”

“Were you after the doe and her fawn?” asked Henry.

“Yes—been a-followin’ ’em fer the last hour. They war in sight o’ the fort, an’ I thought I’d add to the provender by bringin’ ’em low.”

“Well, you’ve had your hand in the killing,” said Dave. He examined the fawn. “There’s meat fit for the table of a king.”

“Yes, and I wish mother had it,” added Henry.

Sam Barringford was alone and carried only his long rifle, his horn of powder and ball, and his hunting knife. As of old he was attired in a hunting shirt, with leggings, and wore his coonskin cap, with the tail trailing behind. He was surprised to learn that they had no game with them, but still more surprised when he heard the tale they had to tell.

“We’ll want to git back to the fort without delay,” he said. “The commandant there must know about this.”

The doe was hung on a long pole, and Dave and Henry carried the game between them. The fawn Sam Barringford slung across the back of his neck, with the front hoofs in one hand and the rear hoofs in the other. Thus they walked as swiftly as possible to the fort, where their coming was noted from a distance.