Blackballs in the Bad Lands 



woebegone a countenance as I could muster. 

 I intended to get even with the foreman. 



A sardonic smile stole over his face, and 

 a disgusted look over those of the others, 

 as they noticed my unstained hands. I re- 

 marked to the foreman that I had shot some 

 game. He promptly replied, " You did n't; 

 if you had, you 'd have been so proud you 'd 

 be as red as a scoria butte with deer blood, 

 to show off. No such luck; and as long as 

 you and that thirty-eight-caliber pop-gun go 

 rustling around this country, I reckon we '11 

 eat pork and be glad to get it." 



To this I answered that if he would promise 

 to pack in what game I had killed, and would 

 do it, I would give him the hunting-knife 

 that he had been trying to steal for the last 

 week. He instantly called it a bargain, and 

 asked how far it was to the game. I an- 

 swered that it was about five miles, and 

 that I would take him there in the morning. 



So next morning we started on horseback, 

 and I went far enough with him to point out 

 exactly where the deer were, and leaving 

 him, I rode over to call on a friend who had 

 a small horse-ranch in the neighborhood. I 



297 



