"If yez manes that, there's two of us, as me brother Pat towld the judge when he called him a good-for-nothing dog."
With which exclamation Tim O'Rooney sighted his rifle at the aborigine, and taking a tedious, uncomfortable aim, pulled the trigger, and then lowered his piece and stared at his target to watch the result. The Indian stood as motionless as a statue, and finally the Irishman drew a deep sigh.
"I wonder whether the bullet has reached him yet?"
"Reached him!" laughed Howard. "I saw it clip off a piece of rock fully forty feet from him."
"Worrah, worrah! but I've ate so much dinner I can't howld the gun stiddy."
"I saw it vibrate——"
"Look out! he's going to shoot again!" called Elwood, as he and Howard dropped on their faces. "Get down, Tim, or he'll hit you. He's a better marksman than you are."
"Who cares——Heaven! save me!"
The second discharge sent the bullet within a few inches of the Irishman's face, and somewhat alarmed him.
"Load quick!" admonished Howard, "and shelter yourself, or you are a dead man."