“Good God!” exclaimed the Judge, with horror; “have I been trifling
here about an empty distinction, and a fellow-creature suffering from
my hands without a murmur? But hasten—quick—get into my sleigh—it is
but a mile to the village, where surgical aid can be obtained—all
shall be done at my expense, and thou shalt live with me until thy
wound is healed, ay, and forever afterward.”

“I thank you for your good intention, but I must decline your offer.
I have a friend who would be uneasy were he to hear that I am hurt and
away from him. The injury is but slight, and the bullet has missed
the bones; but I believe, sir, you will now admit me title to the
venison.”

“Admit it!” repeated the agitated Judge; “I here give thee a right to
shoot deer, or bears, or anything thou pleasest in my woods, forever.
Leather-Stocking is the only other man that I have granted the same
privilege to; and the time is coming when it will be of value. But I
buy your deer—here, this bill will pay thee, both for thy shot and my
own.”

The old hunter gathered his tall person up into an air of pride during
this dialogue, but he waited until the other had done speaking.

“There’s them living who say that Nathaniel Bumppo's right to shoot on
these hills is of older date than Marmaduke Temple’s right to forbid
him,” he said. “But if there’s a law about it at all, though who ever
heard of a law that a man shouldn’t kill deer where he pleased!—but if
there is a law at all, it should be to keep people from the use of
smooth-bores. A body never knows where his lead will fly, when he
pulls the trigger of one of them uncertain firearms.”