“‘Why, game–bears, of course,’ he said, shocked at my appalling ignorance.
“‘Yes,’ said I, slow-like, ‘I reckon Ephraim may turn around and scratch hisself, if you hits him.’
“‘Why, won’t that stop a bear?’
“‘Yes, if it’s a stuffed bear,’ I said.
“‘Why, that’s a blamed good rifle!’
“‘It shore is; it’s as fine a gun as I ever laid my eyes on,’ I replied, ‘for prairie dogs and such.’
“Then I felt plumb sorry for him, he being so ignorant, and so when he hands me a peach of a shotgun to shoot coyotes with I laid it down and got my breach-loading Sharps, .50 caliber, which I handed to him.
“‘There,’ I said, ‘that’s the only gun in the room what any self-respecting bear will give a d––n for.’
“He looked at it, felt its heft, sized up the bunghole and then squinted along the sights.
“‘Why, this gun will kick like the very deuce!’ he said.