I told this story to my daughter recently and she said ''You have told me that story before''. Maybe that's where I heard it.
One very bad winter my great, great Grandfather was deer hunting. His family was almost out of food and he really needed to find game. Why it is called ''game'' I don't know. It seems like a life or death matter to the animals and some times to the hunter.
As he was tracking a deer, he heard a gunshot. He soon came upon an Indian dressing out a deer. They couldn't speak each other's language but the Indian made it clear that they would eat together.It was late so they made a fire and spent the night.
In the morning after eating again, the Indian carefully divided the deer. Grandpa divided his powder and bullets with him.With a handshake, they went their separate ways, never to meet again.