"Last time Jerry Peg was in Bold Island harbor he said he saw a partridge fly up on the shore of Devil Island. He went ashore an' tried to shoot her. He didn't shoot her, but he said he scart up six or eight others in the thick woods. He come away without gittin' one of them. Sunday I didn't have northing to do, so I loaded up my old gun and rowed over to Devil Island. Didn't git there till three in the afternoon. Beached my dory an' hitched the painter to a tree. Wisht I hedn't hitched her arterward. Took out my old gun and went up inter ther spruces. Tramped round to ther old stone quarry one way, but didn't see northing. Turned and tramped clean roun' to t'other end of the island. Scart up two partridges and fired at 'em both. Knocked down the second one. Then I chased t'other, scarin' him up and scarin' him up, but never gittin' him, though I fired at him twict. I was mad. Said I'd stay right there an' hunt that dern partridge till ther Eastern Bay froze over, but I'd git the thing. Arter a while I couldn't fin' him at all, but I kept prowlin' round in the woods till it was beginnin' to git dark. I heard somethin' like a rustlin' under some cedars and saw somethin' move. Then I ups and fires. When I done that there was a yell that might have been heard clean down to ther Hosses. Out of them cedars came a critter that I swan was the old devil him own self! He had horns, an' he had a fiery face and hands, an' he had black holes fer eyes, jest as Jeb told it, and he had a red-hot spear of iron in his hand. He run at me to stick that spear inter me. I know he was goin' to
spear me and then kerry me down below fer shootin' partridges Sunday. He waren't more'n six feet of me when I poked out my old gun an' fired the second barrel right inter his face and eyes. It never bothered him a bit. Run? Why, I flew! Never kivered ground so fast before, an' I never 'spect to ag'in. I bet sometimes I jumped as much as fifteen feet to a leap."
The speaker took out a dirty handkerchief and mopped the big drops of perspiration off his face. He was shaking with excitement, and his eyes gleamed. He showed every symptom of extreme terror as he related the story, and it seemed plain enough that he believed every word he was uttering.
"Go on!" cried several.
"I don't know how I ever got away," said the hunchback, huskily. "I do know that monster was chasin' me right through the woods, tryin' to ram his spear inter my back as if I was a flounder an' he was arter lobster bait. I managed to hold onter my old gun, though at the time I didn't know I was a-doin' of it. If I hed stopped ter think, I'd throwed the gun erway. When I came out ter ther bank nigh ter whar my dory was hitched, I made a jump that took me clean from ther top to ther bottom. It seems as if right when I was in ther air I thought how that bo't was tied with her painter, an' I rammed my hand inter my pocket fer my knife. When I got ter ther boat I had the knife in my hand. I flung ther gun in an' yanked open ther knife jest as ther critter came down over ther bank arter me, an' he sailed down where I had jumped. I saw him do it, and I know he spread out some red things like wings. I don't say they was wings, but they looked like wings. I yanked open my knife and I cut the painter. The tide was in, and the dory was afloat, which was a good thing fer me, for when I jumped in I gave her a shove that sent her away from
the shore. I got ther oars inter ther water and pulled. The critter didn't chase me any arter it reached the edge of the water."
Again the excited speaker wiped his face with the soiled handkerchief, and then he sat down in a chair, as if the remembrance of the adventure had taken all the strength out of him. He was shaking all over.
Frank Merriwell and Bruce Browning looked at each other.
"How is that for a vivid imagination?" grunted the big fellow.
"It's pretty good, but he seems to believe it himself," said Frank.