"Duane doesn't care how many piglings you shoot; he wants to go out alone and get that old grandfather of all boars, the one which kept you on the mountain for the last three days----" "_My_ boar!" she cried indignantly.

"I won't have it! I won't let him.
Oh, Duane, _am_ I a pig to want to manage this affair when I've been after him all winter ?--and he's the biggest, grayest, wiliest thing you ever saw--a perfectly enormous silvery fellow with two pairs of Japanese sabre-sheaths for tusks and a mane like a lion, and a double bend in his nose and----" Shouts of laughter checked her flushed animation.
"Of course I'm not going to sneak out all alone and pot your old pig," said Duane; "I'll find one for myself on some other mountain----" "But I want you to shoot with me!" she exclaimed in dismay.

"I wanted you to see me stalk this boar and mark him down, and have you kill him.
Oh, Duane, that was the fun.

I've been saving him, I really have.

Miller knows that I had a shot once--a pretty good one--and wouldn't take it.