“I wa’n’t a-gwine to have my swim for nuthin’; so I tuk the tail in my teeth, an’ swam back for the shore. I hadn’t made three strokes till the tail pulled out!
“I then swum round ahint the karkidge, an’ pushed it afore me till I got it landed high an’ dry upon a sandbar. ’Twur like to fall to pieces, when I pulled it out o’ the water. ’Twa’n’t eatable nohow!”
Here Rube took a fresh mouthful of the wolf-mutton, and remained silent until he had masticated it. The men had become interested in the story, and waited with impatience. At length he proceeded—
“I seed the buzzarts still flyin’ about, an’ fresh ones a-comin’. I tuk a idee that I mout git my claws upon some o’ ’em. So I lay down clost up agin the calf, an’ played ’possum.
“I wa’n’t long that a way when the birds begun to light on the sandbar, an’ a big cock kim floppin’ up to the karkidge. Afore he kud flop up agin, I grupped him by the legs.”
“Hooraw! well done, by gollies!”
“The cussed thing wur nearly as stinkin’ as t’other, but it wur die dog—buzzart or calf—so I skinned the buzzart.”
“And ate it?” inquired an impatient listener. “No-o,” slowly drawled Rube, apparently “miffed” at being thus interrupted. “It ate me.”
The laugh that followed this retort restored the old trapper to good humour again.
“Did you go it raw, Rube?” asked one of the hunters. “How could he do otherwise? He hadn’t a spark o’ fire, an’ nothing to make one out of.”