He was generous and unselfish, but with a spontaneous
English temper that blazed forth whenever he saw the weak wronged or the
timid terrified.
"I'll never make a really good hunter, Eena," he regretted one day, "I
can't bear to gallop on a big cayuse after a little scared jack rabbit,
and run him down and kill him when he's so little and doesn't try to
fight me with his claws or fangs like a lynx will do. It's not a fair
deal."
"But when one camps many leagues from the ranch house, one must eat,"
observed the Indian.
"Yes, that's the pity of it," agreed Con, "but it seems to me a poor
sort of game to play at."
Nevertheless he did his part towards providing food when they all went
camping up in the timberline in August, and frequently he, Banty and the
Indian would go out by themselves on a three or four days' expedition
away from the main camp, "grubbing" themselves and living the lives of
semi-savages. And it was upon one of these adventures that the three
got separated in some way, Banty and the Indian reaching camp a little
before sunset, and waiting in vain for Con's appearance while the hours
slipped by, and they called and shouted, and fired innumerable shots
thinking to guide him campwards, while they little knew that all the
gold in British Columbia could not have brought Con's feet to enter that
little tent for many days to come; that with all his newborn affection
for Banty, Con would make him most unwelcome should chance bring them
face to face again.
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