We had just pulled the canoe out of the water and turned it over after a wet day in the bush across Giant's Lake, and were drying ourselves before the camp-fire, when Con taught a lesson and perpetrated a confidence. His keen, shrewd eyes twinkling, and a broad smile shortening his long, lean face till its great Roman nose and pointed chin were hobnobbing sociably together, the best hunter and guide on the Gatineau sat pouring boiling water through the barrel and into the innermost holy of holies of the intricate lock mechanism of his .303 Winchester—to dry it out and prevent rusting from the wetting it had received in the bush.
"Sure! youse never heerd of it before?" he asked in surprise. "Dryin' a gun with hot water 's safest way to keep her from rustin'; carries out all th' old water hangin' round her insides 'n' makes her so damned hot Mr. Rust don't even have time to throw up a lean-to 'n' get to eatin' of her 'fore the new water's all gone; 'n' Mr. Rust can't get to eat none 'thout water, no more'n a deer can stay out of a salt lick, or Erne Moore can keep away from the habitaw gals, or Tit Moody can get his own consent to stop his tongue waggin' off tales 'bout how women winks down t' Tupper Lake—when he's rowin' 'em."
"Shouldn't think such a little water as you have used would make the gun hot enough to dry it out," I suggested.
"Hot! Won't make her hot! Why, she's hotter now 'n' billy Buell got last October when that loony habitaw cook o' ourn made up all our marmalade and currant jelly into pies that looked 'n' bit 'n' tasted like wagon dope wropt in tough brown paper; hot! 's hot this minute 's Elise Lièvre's woman got last Spring when she heerd o' him a-sittin' up t' a Otter Lake squaw. Why, say! youse couldn't no more keep a gun from rustin' in this wet bush 'thout hot water than Warry Hilliams can kill anything goin' faster than three-legged deer.
"Rust! Youse might 'a well try to catch a habitaw goin' to a weddin' 'thout more ribbons on his bridle 'n' harness than his gal has on her gown 's hunt for rust in a hot-watered gun!"
Catching a hint of a yarn, I asked if there were many three-legged deer in the bush.
"W'an't but one ever, far 's I know," he replied. "'N' almighty lucky it was for Warry that one come a-limpin' along his way, for it give him th' only chance he'll probably ever have to say he got to shoot a deer.
"Warry? Why he's jest the best ever happened—'t least the best ever happened 'round this end o' the bush. Lives down to——; better not tell you right where he lives, for I stirred up th' letters in his name, so 'f any of his friends heerd you tell th' story they won't know it's on him; fer he's jest that good I'd rather hurt anybody, 'cept my woman or bird, than hurt him.
"Warry! Why, with a rod 'n' line 'n' reel, whether it's with flies, spoons, or minnows, castin' or trollin', or spearin' or nettin', Warry's th' _ex_pertest fish-catcher that ever waded the rapids or paddled th' lakes o' this old Province o' Quebec. But it's gettin' a leetle hard for Warry late years—fish 's come to know him so well that after he's made a few casts 'n' hooked one or two that's got away, they know his tricks so well they just passes the word 'round, 'n' it's 'pike' for th' pike, 'beat it' for th' bass, 'trot' for th' trout, 'n' 'skip' for the salmon, until now, after th' first day or two, 'bout all Warry can get in reach of 's mud turtles.
"'N'd that's what comes o' knowin' too much and gettin' too damned smart—nobody or nothin' left to play with! Warry? Why, say, if he'd only knowed it thirty or forty years ago, Warry had th' chance to live 'n die with th' _re_pute o' bein' th' greatest sport specialist that ever busted through the Quebec bush—if he'd only jest kept to fishin'. But the hell o' it is, Warry's always had a fool idee in his head he can hunt, 'n' he can't, can't sort o' begin to hunt! 'N' darned if I could ever quite figure out why, 'n' him so smart, 'nless because he goes poundin' through the bush like a bunch o' shantymen to their choppin', with his head stuck in his stummick, studyin' some new trick to play on a trout, makin' so much noise th' deer must nigh laugh theirselves to death at him a-packin' o' a gun.