“git behind this wagon if ye don’t want to git riddled by the varmints.”
“Yas, sir,” replied Jethro, suspending the reloading of his weapon and meekly obeying.
“Younker, was it ye who plugged that redskin?” asked the guide.
“No; it was Jeth.”
“How’d ye do it?” demanded the hunter.
“Ef you wants to larn how to tumble over one oh dem sarpents, Mr. Shagbark, I’ll tole you and you can try it yourself. I knowed dat de minute he pulled trigger he’d roll ober so dat when my bullet arobe he wouldn’t be dere to welcome it. So I aimed at de left side from here, and I reckons I got him.”
“B’ars and beavers!” exclaimed the guide, “ye’re the only one in the party that knowed ’nough to do that. Whar did ye larn it?”
“I heerd you tell how you done it once.”
“Wal, wal, it gits me; ye ain’t such a big fool as ye looks to be; keep on doing that thing, but don’t let ’em cotch sight of ye, if ye can help it.”
Shagbark’s admiration was not lessened by the fact that he knew the exploit of Jethro Mix was a piece of luck rather than real skill.
