“It’s awful!” said he, as we started, “this walking right into danger, but I want to see that canoe agin, but especially that gal, and so I’ll go.”
“And, I trust, behave yourself. You well know, Nat, you fired that shot which came so near ending Biddon’s life.”
“Wonder if I did pull the trigger!” he exclaimed, suddenly stopping and looking round at me.
“You know you did, and had he known it, too, it would have been a sorry piece of business for you. That temper of his is terrible, when it is once excited.”
“I remember cocking my gun, and kind of pulling the trigger, but I didn’t mean to pull hard enough to make it go off.”
“I suppose not. I cannot conceive how Biddon persuaded himself to believe that you did not discharge it when the case was self-evident. But he is willing to believe almost anything since he has started.”
“He shouldn’t have gotten before my gun, for he knows my hand sometimes trembles.”
“I trust you will be able to control it this time.”
“No doubt of that; but, then, I’d advise you, as a friend, not to get before me, especially if you see the canoe coming.”
I assured him that I should not, and we kept upon our way. Upon each of the occasions before, as near as I could judge, it was about noon that the canoe made its appearance; and, as it was that time now, we hurried forward, lest the opportunity should pass. The opportunity, I say—for, although it had appeared but twice as yet, I somehow or other was well satisfied we should see it again.