"Then make up your mind you're going to have none," said Roger, now growing angry himself at the arrogance of the fellow. "If you want your arrow, here it is; but not an ounce of the elk meat do you get." He jerked the shaft feathered with the quills of the gray goose from its lodging-place in the side of the dead elk, and handed it out toward the other. The man condescended to take it, but immediately broke it across his knee, as though by such violent means he expected them to understand that he intended to be their inveterate foe from that time forth. "Go! Get out of this!" cried the impetuous Roger, pointing with his quivering finger. "And just remember, Monsieur Dupuy, we have long rifles here, and know how to drive a nail at thirty paces; so that, if you try to do us any harm, it will be at your peril. That is all." An Indian might have said, "I have spoken!" but Roger's way was just as expressive, accompanied as it was by that sweep of the hand. The man's eyes narrowed until they seemed to be mere slits, as he glared at the bold young speaker. Then he flung his head in a disdainful gesture, and remarked with a sneer: "Never before did Batiste Dupuy take orders from a cub. Huh! wait and see who laughs loudest. Mebbe Batiste, his hour will come soon. Lascelles, you said?--it may be I know same; and he much glad to hear of you! Sacre! that is all I say!" With that he made them a mocking bow, showing that he surely had French blood in his veins, and, whirling on his moccasined heel, strode angrily away. After going a certain distance he turned and looked toward them, as if measuring the intervening space. Roger even thought he could see him fitting an arrow to his bowstring and at once half raised his rifle threateningly. If Batiste had intended trying a shot at them, he speedily abandoned his idea when he saw how ready they were to send their lead in his direction. He must have known that pioneer boys were quite at home with their long-barreled guns, and could snip off the swaying head of a wild turkey, buried in the earth to its neck, at the annual shoots where the best marksmen came together to compete. At any rate, he contented himself with shaking his fist in their direction, and then moving away again. "A good riddance to bad rubbish!" exclaimed Roger, though evidently pleased to see the last of the ruffian. "And we'd better be getting away from here as soon as we can," remarked Dick, better able than his impulsive companion to understand what this chance encounter, and the making of an enemy, might mean for them. "But he knows that François Lascelles, Dick; you heard him say so!" Roger remarked, as he started to fasten his horse, so that they could cut up the game as speedily as possible, and ride away, one of them meanwhile standing guard, so that the half-breed might not sneak up close enough to use his bow on them.