"'My good man,' says he, 'you've crushed them all to pieces!'
"'They'll taste as good for all that,' says I; for somehow I'd taken't
in me head that he'd heard o' the way the Injuns make soup o' the
grasshoppers, an' wos wantin' to try his hand at a new dish!
"He laughed when I said this, an' told me he wos collectin' them to
take home to be _looked_ at. But that's not wot I was goin' to tell ye
about him," continued Joe; "I wos goin' to tell ye how we made him eat
horseflesh. He carried a revolver, too, this natter-list did, to load
wi' shot as small as dust a'most, an' shoot little birds with. I've
seed him miss birds only three feet away with it. An' one day he drew
it all of a suddent an' let fly at a big bum-bee that wos passin',
yellin' out that it wos the finest wot he had iver seed. He missed the
bee, of coorse, 'cause it wos a flyin' shot, he said, but he sent the
whole charge right into Martin's back--Martin was my comrade's name.
By good luck Martin had on a thick leather coat, so the shot niver got
the length o' his skin.
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