Such was the “old ’oman” Rube had promised to fetch; and she was greeted by a loud laugh as he led her up.
“Now, look’ee hyur, boyees,” said he, halting in front of the crowd. “Ee may larf, an’ gabble, an’ grin till yur sick in the guts—yur may! but this child’s a-gwine to take the shine out o’ that Injun’s shot—he is, or bust a-tryin’.”
Several of the bystanders remarked that that was likely enough, and that they only waited to see in what manner it was to be done. No one who knew him doubted old Rube to be, as in fact he was, one of the very best marksmen in the mountains—fully equal, perhaps, to the Indian; but it was the style and circumstances which had given such éclat to the shot of the latter. It was not every day that a beautiful girl could be found to stand fire as the squaw had done; and it was not every hunter who would have ventured to fire at a mark so placed. The strength of the feat lay in its newness and peculiarity. The hunters had often fired at the mark held in one another’s hands. There were few who would like to carry it on their head. How, then, was Rube to “take the shine out o’ that Injun’s shot”? This was the question that each was asking the other, and which was at length put directly to Rube himself.
“Shet up your meat-traps,” answered he, “an I’ll show ’ee. In the fust place, then, ’ee all see that this hyur prickly ain’t more’n hef size o’ the squash?”
“Yes, sartainly,” answered several voices. “That wur one sukumstance in his favour. Wa’nt it?”
“It wur! it wur!”
“Wal, hyur’s another. The Injun, ’ee see, shot his mark off o’ the head. Now, this child’s a-gwine to knock his’n off o’ the tail. Kud yur Injun do that? Eh, boyees?”
“No, no!”
“Do that beat him, or do it not, then?”
“It beats him!”