e spat out the words with a
venomous disgust. "Thet feller war a _Blair_! Did ye ever heer of a
Gregory hollerin' 'enough!' ter a Blair, yit!"

McCalloway stood looking down with an amusement which he was considerate
enough to mask. He knew that Boone, though his surname was Wellver, was
still in all the meaning of feud parlance a Gregory and that in the
bitterness of his speech spoke not only individual animosity but
generations of vendetta. So he let the lad have his say uninterrupted,
and Boone's words ran freshet-like with the churn and tumble of his
anger. "Ye jest misjudged he war a'lickin' me, because ye seed him on
top an' a'gougin' at my eye. But I'd _done been_ on top o' him--an' I'd
a got thar ergin. Ef you'd noted whar I'd done chawed his ear at he
wouldn't 'a' looked so good ter ye, I reckon."

"Suppose he had gotten that knife open." The man still spoke with that
unpatronizing gravity which carries an untold weight of conviction to a
boy's mind. "What would he have done?"

"I reckon he'd a'gutted me--but I didn't nuver aim ter let him git hit
open."

"Are you a fighter by habit, Boone?"

Something in the intonation caused the lad to flush afresh, this time
with the feeling that he had been unduly bragging, and he responded in a
lowered voice. "I hain't nuver tuck part in no gun-battles yit--but when
hit comes ter fist an' skull, I'm accounted ter be a right practiced
knocker an' I kin rass'le right good. What made ye ask me thet
question?"

McCalloway held the angelic blue eyes, so paradoxically set in that
wrath-enflamed face, with his own steady gray ones, and spoke quietly:

"Because if you are going to be a fighting man, it's important that you
should fight properly, I thought perhaps you'd like to talk to me about
it sometime. You see, I've been fighting all my life. It's been my
profession."

Over the freckled face surged a wave of captivated interest. The Blair
boy was forgotten and the voice thrilled into earnest solicitation.
"Would ye l'arn me more about hit some time? What style of fightin' does
ye foller?"

"The fair kind, I trust. Civilized warfare. The trade of soldiering."

"I hain't nuver follered no unfa'r sort nuther," disclaimed Boone, and
his companion smiled enigmatically while he replied meditatively,

"What is fair or unfair--what is courageous or cowardly--is largely a
matter of viewpoint. Some day I dare say you'll go out into the world
beyond the hills and out there