"That's right," said Knowles; but he turned sharply upon the offender. "Look here, Mr. Ashton, if that's your name--there's still the matter of this yearling. Shooting stock in a cattle country isn't any laughing matter." "But, I say," replied the hunter, "I didn't know it was your cow, really I didn't." "Doesn't make any difference whose brand was on the calf. Even if it had been a maverick--" "But that's it!" interrupted Ashton. "I didn't see the brand--only glimpses of the beast in the chaparral. I thought it a deer until after it fell and I came up to look." "You shore did," jeered Gowan. "That's why you was hurrying to yank off the hide. No chance of proving a case on you with the brand down in Deep Canyon." "Indeed no," replied Ashton, drawing a trifle closer to the girl's stirrup. "You are quite wrong--quite. I was dressing the animal to take it to my camp. Because I had mistaken it for a deer was no reason why I should leave it to the coyotes." "What business you got hunting deer out of season?" questioned Knowles. "Pardon me, but are you the game warden?" asked Ashton, with a supercilious smile. "Never you mind about that," rejoined the cowman. "Just you answer my question." Ashton shrugged, and replied in a bored tone: "I fail to see that it is any of your affair. But since you are so urgent to learn--I prefer to enjoy my sport before the rush of the open season." "Don't you know it's against the law?" exclaimed the girl. "Ah--as to that, a trifling fine--" drawled the hunter, again shrugging. "Humph!" grunted Knowles. "A fine might get you off for deer. Shooting stock, though, is a penitentiary offense--when the criminal is lucky enough to get into court." "Criminal!" repeated Ashton, flushing. "I have explained who I am. My father could buy out this entire cattle country, and never know it. I'll do it myself, some day, and turn the whole thing into a game preserve." "When you do," warned Gowan, "you'd better hunt a healthier climate." "What we're concerned with now," interposed Knowles, "is this yearling." "The live or the dead one, Daddy?" asked the girl, her cheeks dimpling. "What d'you--Aw--_haw! haw! haw!_--The live or the dead one! Catch that, Kid? The live or the dead one! _Haw! haw! haw!_" The cowman fairly roared with laughter. Neither of the young men joined in his hilarious outburst. Gowan waited, cold and unsmiling. Ashton stiffened with offended dignity. "I told you that the shooting of the animal was unintentional," he said. "I shall settle the affair by paying you the price usually asked for veal." "You will?" said the cowman, looking down at the indignant tenderfoot with a twinkle in his mirth-reddened eyes. "Well, we don't usually sell veal on the range. But I'll let you have this yearling at cutlet prices. Fifty dollars is the figure." "Why, Daddy," interrupted the girl, "half that would be--"