"Yas; needs it, I reckon. While y'ur hand's in, jest think a leetle how all-fired nigh you come to killin' a feller-critter-man. Sp'ilt my ha'r, anyhow," at the same time tugging at the shaggy lock that grew beside his ear, trying to bring it before his eyes. "See thar."
It did indeed look as though a bullet had cut a jagged passage through it, as he had hinted. Then Poynter seated himself beneath the tree, motioning Jack to do the same, saying:
"There's nothing else just now, Fyffe; sit down and tell us how you chanced upon this fellow, and all about it."
"Don't care 'f I do, square," quoth Jack, gnawing off a huge mouthful of "niggerhead," and then passing the plug to Sprowl. "Don't chaw, b'lieve?"
"No."
"I do. Wal, I allus war fond o' tellin' stories. Mam, she used to dress my trowsers with her ol' slipper purty nigh the hull time, 'cause of this habit o' mine; but, Lord, thet didn't do no good. Only driv' it back ag'in, like. But dad, he was a yarner, now I tell you! I kain't hold a kendle to him when he'd got a good streak on. Jest about half-cocked, an' then stan' from under! He'd allus got a bigger one back, too, ef anybody'd top his'n, fer a cap-sheaf. I tuck arter him, I consait, though the ol' coon 'd offen say 'at he's 'shamed of me, 'cause I couldn't lie better; but thet's nyther hyar nor thar.
"When I 'gun winkin' this daylight airly, I got up an' begun sorter swoopin' 'round fer grub. But blamed the bit could I find, 'cept some wenzun, an' I swore I'd hev none o' thet. Fact is, my appertite is sorter delacut, like, an' won't b'ar plain grub, like you bigger fellers.
"So, as I went down to the crick fer a drink, I see'd lots o' gre't big turkey-tracks in the mud, toes a-p'intin' downarts; an' so I jest shoulders shooter an' shakes moccasin sorter lively, 'cause I'd made up my mind to hev a gobbler fer breakfust, an' nothin' shorter. Ef I says a thing, even ef it be jest to myself, sorter, it's gwine to be did, ef so be it kin.
"But I trailed them dratted birds so fur thet I'd e'ena'most gi'n up all hups o' drappin' one, an' hed 'bout made up my mind thet wenzun was a heap better, enyhow, when I sot blinkers on as fine a strutter as ever gobbled to a hen. Up goes my gun, slip goes my fut, an' down I rolls inter the crick, while the dratted bird flops off through the bushes, tail on eend, like a quarter-hoss wi' a jimson burr fer a crupper.
"Didn't I cuss some, sorter, as I got out? Mebbe not; 'tany rate, off I put ag'in arter thet turkey, fer I swore I'd hev it ef it tuck all day. No 'tarnal two-legged bird sh'u'd fool me like thet, not by no manner o' means, ef I knowed myself, an' I rayther thunk I did. So on I splurges, lickety-split.