“I wish they were all worms, and I could get my heel on them!” said Joe.
“That would be cruel—but as any execution we may now do, is in our own defence, you may fire at that bush if you like,” continued Boone.
“Well,” said Joe; and taking deliberate aim, discharged his musket as directed, and was knocked down on his back in the snow by the rebound.
“Plague take the gun!” said he, recovering his feet; “but I remember it had two loads in—I forgot it was charged, and loaded it again. Ha! ha! ha! but what’s become of the bush?” he continued jocularly, not thinking he had fired at an Indian.
“Look for yourself,” replied Boone.
“Hang me if it ain’t gone!” exclaimed Joe.
“Ay, truly it is; but had you hit the mark, it would have fallen. It was rather too far, however, even for your musket,” said Boone, returning to his former position.
“You are the poorest marksman that ever I saw, or you’d ’ave killed that red rascal,” said Sneak, coming up to Joe, and finding where the bush had been.
“I didn’t know it was any thing but a bush—if I’d only known it was an Indian—”
“You be hanged!” replied Sneak, vexed that such a capital opportunity should be lost, and petulantly resuming his own station.