“Ay, an’ the way he shot it too,” said the seaman, laying aside his rifle, “would have made even a monkey stare with astonishment. Has Leather come back, by the way? I see’d him goin’ full sail through the woods when I went out this mornin’.”
“He has not yet returned,” said Charlie. “When I relieved him and sat down to watch by our friend here, he said he felt so much better and stronger that he would take his gun and see if he couldn’t find something for the pot. I advised him not to trust his feelings too much, and not to go far, but—ah, here he comes to answer for himself.”
As he spoke a step was heard outside, and next moment Shank entered, carrying a brace of rabbits which he flung down, and then threw himself on a couch in a state of considerable exhaustion.
“There,” said he, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “They’ve cost me more trouble than they’re worth, for I’m quite done up. I had no idea I had become so weak in the legs. Ralph, my dear fellow,” he added, forgetting himself for the moment as he rose and went to his friend’s side, “I have more sympathy with you, now that I have found out the extent of my own weakness. Do you feel better!”
“Yes, old boy—much—much better.”
“That’s all right. I’m convinced that—hallo! why, who shot the deer!”
“Hunky Ben has beat you,” said Charlie.
“Beat Leather!” exclaimed Darvall, “why, he beats all creation. I never see’d anything like it since I went to sea.”
“Since you came ashore, you should say. But come, Dick,” said Charlie, “let’s hear about this wonderful shooting. I’m sure it will amuse Buck—unless he’s too wearied to listen.”
“Let him talk,” said the invalid. “I like to hear him.”