“I say, old case, you don’t mind it, do ye?”
This was addressed to Rube, who was busy on his rib and made no reply.
“He? not he,” said another, answering for him. “Rube’s ate a heap o’ queery tit-bits in his time. Hain’t ye, Rube?”
“Ay, an’ afore yur be as long in the mountains as this child, ’ee’ll be glad to get yur teeth over wuss chawin’s than wolf-meat; see if ’ee don’t, young fellur.”
“Man-meat, I reckin?”
“Ay, that’s what Rube means.”
“Boyees!” said Rube, not heeding the remark, and apparently in good humour, now that he was satisfying his appetite, “what’s the nassiest thing, leavin’ out man-meat, any o’ ’ees iver chawed?”
“Woman-meat, I reckin.”
“’Ee chuckle-headed fool! yur needn’t be so peert now, showin’ yur smartness when ’tain’t called for nohow.”
“Wal, leaving out man-meat, as you say,” remarked one of the hunters, in answer to Rube’s question, “a muss-rat’s the meanest thing I ever set teeth on.”