Man with No Name- Bowie Knife

They were closer to the base of the hills than the hunter had dared hope, the lower fringe of greasewood shrubs only a few yards beyond. He hopped over the rim of the basket, drawing his Bowie knife.
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“Smart thinking,” the hunter said solemnly. “While you do that, I’ll start cutting. As soon as your fire’s going well, come back and start carrying the brush to the balloon. With both of us working at it, we ought to be loaded and ready to leave in a matter of minutes.”

He was already slashing at the greasewood, wielding the heavy knife like a machete.

- The Million-Dollar Bloodhunt, chapter 19