Just as we reached the bridge
Harry pulled up.
"Jump out, boys, jump out! Here's the spot."
"I tell you there aint none; darn you! There aint none never here, nor
haint been these six years; you know that now, yourself, Archer."
"We'll try it, all the same," said Harry, who was coolly loading his
gun. "The season has been wetter than common, and this ground is
generally too dry. Drive on, Tim, over the bridge, into the hollow;
you'll be out of shot there; and wait till we come. Holloa! mark, Tom."
For, as the wagon wheels rattled upon the bridge, up jumped a cock out
of the ditch by the road side, from under a willow brush, and skimmed
past all of us within five yards. Tom Draw and I, who had got out after
Harry, were but in the act of ramming down our first barrels; but Harry,
who had loaded one, and was at that moment putting down the wad upon the
second, dropped his ramrod with the most perfect sang-froid I ever
witnessed, took a cap out of his right-hand pocket, applied it to the
cone, and pitching up his gun, knocked down the bird as it wheeled to
cross the road behind us, by the cleverest shot possible.
"That's pretty well for no birds, anyhow, Tom," he exclaimed, dropping
his butt to load.
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