"After my birds again!" Harry exclaimed indignantly. "If it's Joe I declare I'll go straight to town and fetch the game warden up here to arrest him. Of course he's spoiled my picture, too!" For the grouse had folded his wings and scuttled out of sight into the willows. "I'll just go right along and see who that was," Harry decided, closing her camera and starting up the cow path through the glen. At this time of the year the steep sides of the ravine were masked in the leafage of quaking asp, thorn apple, willow and choke cherry, and it was next to impossible to see whether the person shooting was there or not. Harry did not stop to explore. She knew by experience that it was farther up in the high meadow, a favorite nesting place of grouse and sage hen that she was most likely to find the poachers. Now, in her excitement she had started running (Joe should not evade her!) but the path was steep, the sun ardent, and before she could reach the meadow she was out of breath, hot, and not any calmer. In a final, desperate effort to cut across Joe's path toward home she swerved through the trees and almost ran over Joe himself. He was moving stealthily through the willows, but startled by Harry's unexpected appearance, he stopped short. "Joe!" she exclaimed; "I thought so." "You did!" He laughed mischievously. "I ain't the only fella that takes a short cut through here, am I?" "You take it oftenest. Outsiders don't get here quite so early in the morning, as a rule. I see I'm too late to save my birds, though." She pointed indignantly to the grouse hen that hung from Joe's left hand. Joe looked at it too. "Pretty nice one, ain't it," he observed. "Want I should get you one?" "I should say not!" she exclaimed angrily. "And what's more, you may put that one down. I've told you not to shoot on my land, and I don't intend to have you carry off the birds under my nose, even though they are dead. Give that to me, please." She reached out her hand, but Joe stepped alertly back. "This ain't yours," he said. He was no longer smiling; instead he eyed her sullenly, a cruel expression on his handsome face. Harry remembered that he had looked at her just so the day he had tried to pull her sweater from Isita. "Everybody's got a right to the wild critters," he added. "Besides," glancing covertly at Harry, "I was gettin' this because Isita likes 'em." For a second Harry faltered. The picture of the younger girl, thin, tired-looking, unmistakably underfed came before her. But even as she started to yield, her indignation flamed again. "Oh, well, if it's for Isita," she answered with affected surprise, "give it to me. I'll take it home and cook it, and you tell your sister I've invited her down to dinner." "Not much," Joe answered shortly. "We don't beg a meal off'n any one."