“No sooner sayed than done. The shirt war peeled off, gathered up into a clew, tied to the eend o’ the string, an’ chucked out’ard.
“It struck a branch o’ the cyprus, an’ fell short.
“I tried agin, an’ agin, an’ over agin. The darned thing still fell short several feet from the bank o’ the river. It warn’t any fault o’ the cord. It war long enuf. It war the thick branches o’ the cyprus that gin me no chance to make a clur cast. I tried till I got dead tired of failin’—till I seed the thing war impossible—an’ then I gin it up.
“I shed a felt dreadful at failin’ arter bein’ so cock sure o’ suckcess; but jess then I bethut me o’ another plan for reachin’ that preecious flooid. I’ve tolt ye ’bout my cuttin’ a lot o’ cane to make me a shake-down for sleepin’ on. Thar it still war, right under me—a hul cord o’ it.
“The sight o’ the long tubes surgested a new idee, which I warn’t long in puttin’ to practice. Takin’ the shirt out o’ its loop, I made the string fast to the heft o’ my bowie. I then shot the knife down among the cane, sendin’ it wi’ all my might, an’ takin’ care to keep the peint o’ the blade down’ards. It warn’t long afore I hed spiked up as much o’ thet ere cane as wud a streetched twenty yurds into the river.
“It tuk more time to manafacter the machine I intended makin’, which war a long tube as mout enable me to draw up the water o’ the stream. Thar war no eend o’ whittlin’ an’ punchin’ out the jeints, an’ then splicin’ the tubes one to the tother. But I knowd it war a case o’ life or death; an’ knowin’ thet, I worked on constant as a ole gin-hoss.
“I war rewarded for my patience. I got my blow-gun completed, an’ shovin’ it carefully out, takin’ the percaushun to gie it a double rest upon the branches, I hed the saterfaction to see its peint dippin’ down into the river.
“My mouth war applied to the other eend, an’ oh, golly! Thar warn’t no mint julep ever sucked through a straw, as tasted like the flooid that kim gurglin’ up through that ere cane. I thort I ked niver take the thing from my lips, an’ I feel putty sartin thet while I war drinkin’, the Massissippi must a fell a kupple o’ feet in the clur.”
“Ha! ha! ha!”
“Ye may larf, young fellar, an’ I’m glad to see ye in sech good spirits; but ye ant so elevated as I war. When I tuk my mouth from the cane, I feeled all over a new man, jess as ef I hed been raised from the dead, or dragged out o’ a consoomin’ fire.