And Sifers' eye's as stiddy as that hand o' his!—He'll shoot
A' old-style rifle, like he has, and smallest bore, to boot,
With any fancy rifles made to-day, er expert shot
'At works at shootin' like a trade—and all some of 'em's got!
XCIX
Let 'em go right out in the woods with Doc, and leave their "traps"
And blame glass-balls and queensware-goods, and see how Sifers draps
A squirrel out the tallest tree.—And 'fore he fires he'll say
Jes where he'll hit him—yes, sir-ee! And he's hit thataway!
C
Let 'em go out with him, i jucks! with fishin'-pole and gun,—
And ekal chances, fish and ducks, and take the rain, er sun,
Jes as it pours, er as it blinds the eye-sight; then, I guess,
'At they'd acknowledge, in their minds, their disadvantages.
CI
And yit he'd be the last man out to flop his wings and crow
Insultin'-like, and strut about above his fallen foe!—
No-sir! the hand 'at tuk the wind out o' their sails 'ud be
The very first they grabbed, and grinned to feel sich sympathy.
CII
Doc gits off now and then and takes a huntin'-trip somewhere
'Bout Kankakee, up 'mongst the lakes—sometimes'll drift round there
In his canoe a week er two; then paddle clean on back
By way o' old Wabash and Blue, with fish—all he kin pack,—