“I don’t,” he replied, sturdily; and he drew himself up, and tramped on with the rifle over his shoulder, evidently very proud of being trusted with it; but he had an unpleasant way of turning sharply round every now and then to look at something, with the result that, after being struck smartly by the barrel of the piece, I had to jump out of his way.
“Beg your pardon,” he would say, and a few minutes after forget all about it, and turn the barrel upon me again.
“I say, Esau,” I cried, at last, “do be careful with that gun.”
“’Tain’t a gun—it’s a rifle.”
“Call it what you like, but don’t shoot me.”
“Ain’t going to,” he said, drily. “What’s the good? We ain’t cannibals. But I say, I wish something nice would come along. I know I could hit it. What would you like—a deer? Deer’s very good to eat, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“Wonder which is the best place to aim at. His head, I suppose. I should like to bring one down.”
“I don’t think you’ll have a chance, Esau. Besides, we couldn’t carry it. We’ve got as much as we can manage now.”
“Ah, but there’s another way of carrying meat,” said Esau, with a curious cock of the eye. “I mean after it’s roasted.”