"
"One day I noticed that the natter-list had stuffed small corks into
the muzzles of all the six barrels of his revolver. I wondered what
they wos for, but he wos al'ays doin' sich queer things that I
soon forgot it. 'Maybe,' thought I, jist before it went out o' my
mind--'maybe he thinks that'll stop the pistol from goin' off by
accident;' for ye must know he'd let it off three times the first day
by accident, an' well-nigh blowed off his leg the last time, only
the shot lodged in the back o' a big toad he'd jist stuffed into his
breeches pocket. Well, soon after we shot a buffalo bull, so when it
fell, off he jumps from his horse an' runs up to it. So did I, for I
wasn't sure the beast was dead, an' I had jist got up when it rose an'
rushed at the natter-list.
"'Out o' the way,' I yelled, for my rifle was empty; but he didn't
move, so I rushed for'ard an' drew the pistol out o' his belt and let
fly in the bull's ribs jist as it ran the poor man down. Martin came
up that moment an' put a ball through its heart, an' then we went to
pick up the natter-list.
Pages:
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362