Ben’s rifle cracked; the buffalo tottered like a tower shaken by an earthquake, then fell to the ground. Jules sent up peal after peal of laughter.
“Vat you laugh at?” said Jan, looking down from the tree.
“At you, you great blunderhead,” replied Jules.
“Vy you laugh at me?”
“Because I like to see a Dutchman run.”
“Ish he teat?” said Jan, looking at Ben.
“Dead as a pickled fish,” said Ben. “You may come down.”
Jan slid down from the tree, walked slowly to the place where Jules sat on his horse, picked him off solemnly, and cast him down like an untimely fig. The whole thing was done in such a deliberate manner that Ben did not suppose any such action intended, and before he had time to think, the Frenchman was down, and Jan’s big foot placed upon his breast.
“What do ye mean?” shouted Ben. “Let him up, ye durned fool.”
“Vell, vat makes him laff at me ven I pe chase py a puffalo?” said Jan. “I dink I dells him somet’ings. Lie dere vile I spoke mit you du or drie dimes.”