Two Rivers Isle my guns

the big fella moved like a greased bull. colt let out a long whistle of admiration as the animal was felled so fast. boone looked altogether rather sick, and the cowboy made short work of the rest, mercifully in his estimation.
blood eked out around a torn throat. colt's stomach growled. "good huntin'," he grunted. "yer skilled fer it."
he started to tear at the skin, splitting it to expose the muscle trembling with good fat.