When Westy strode away after making his sensational announcement at the farm, Ira Hasbrook watched the departing figure through a dense cloud of tobacco smoke. He was puzzled. For a while he smoked leisurely, submitting with languid amiability to the tirade of Aunt Mira. And when she finally withdrew to the sitting room to write to Bridgeboro he continued smoking and thinking for fully half an hour. Only once in all that time did he make any audible comment. “Some kid,” he mused aloud.
It would be hard to say whether this comment was in approval of Westy’s sudden inspiration to kill a deer or in perplexity as to what he actually had done. Certainly Ira would not have held it to the boy’s discredit if he had killed a deer. He rather liked Westy’s unexplained decision to reform and kill a deer. With such a fine beginning he might some day even go after an Indian or run away to sea. Ira was greatly amused at the na?ve way in which Westy had suddenly come out into the open as a lawless adventurer....
But he was puzzled. For one thing it seemed odd to him that Westy, directly after his bizarre exploit, should have chanced upon Luke Meadows, the leading poacher of the neighborhood and the bane of farmers and game wardens for miles around.
Ira’s attitude with respect to Westy’s sensational confession was not the moral attitude.
“I’ll be gol darned, I don’t believe he did it,” he mused. His thought seemed to be that it was too good to be true.
He slowly drew himself to his feet, pulled his outlandish felt hat from its peg, refilled his pipe, and sauntered over into the woods where he soon hit the trail which formed the short cut to Chandler. He had not walked fifteen minutes when he heard voices and presently came upon a little group of people gazing at the carcass of the deer. Terry, the game warden, and Farmer Sands were very much in evidence.
“What cher goin’ to do with him; drag him out?” Ira inquired without wasting any words in greeting.
“H’lo, Iry,” said the game warden. “Work of the boy scouts; pretty good job, huh?”
“Yere, so he was tellin’ me,” drawled Ira. “Plunked him right in the bean, huh?”
“Who was tellin’ yer?” inquired Farmer Sands with aggressive shrewdness.
“The kid,” drawled Ira.
“Yer don’t mean he come back and told yer?” Farmer Sands inquired incredulously.
“Uh huh, work of the boy scouts,” said Ira. “I was thinkin’ he might ’a been lyin’ only I don’t ............