“That’s what I said. Abe Pike’s vermin pisen poles, warrented to stand the ravages o’ time an’ insects, and Pike’s bark; no other genuine. So long!”
“Well, so long!”
Chapter Two.
Uncle Abe’s Big Shoot.
I had ridden out one day to the outpost, where a troop of young cattle were running, when the horse rode into a covey of red-wing partridges, a brace of which I accounted for by a right and left. Picking up the birds, and feeling rather proud of the shot, I continued on to Uncle Pike’s to crow over the matter.
The old man was seated outside the door ‘braiding’ a thong of forslag or whip-lash.
“Hitch the reins over the pole. Ef the shed was ready I’d ask yer to stable the hoss, but there’s a powerful heap o’ work yet to finish it off nice an’ shipshape—me being one o’ those who like to see a job well done. None o’ yer rough and ready sheds for me, with a hole in the roof after the fust rain. A plump brace o’ birds—you got ’em up by the Round Kopje.”
“Yes, Uncle; a right and left from the saddle. Good shooting, eh!”