Thar's the scent o' a woman on it, sure; an' whar thar's a woman Frank Hamersley ain't likely to be let die o' sturvashun.

He air too good-lookin' for that.

Wall I reck'n it's all right an' thar ain't no more need for me to hurry.

T'war rayther a scant breakfast I've hed, an' hain't gin this chile's in'ards saterfacshun.

I'll jest chaw another griskin o' the deer-meat to strengthen me for this six-mile tramp southard." In less than five minutes after, the smoke from a sage-stalk fire was seen ascending from beside the palmilla, and in its blaze, quickly kindled, a huge piece of venison, cut from the fat flanks of the doe, weighing at least four pounds, spitted upon one of the stiff blades of the plant, was rapidly turning from blood red to burnt brown.
As circumstances had ofttimes compelled the ex-Ranger to eat his deer-meat underdone, the habit had become his _gout_; and it was, therefore, not long before the griskin was removed from the spit.