“Not often. Necks are tough, you see, and ground is mostly soft,” cried Archie, as he fired and dropped the cow.
“Who’s that away to the right, ridin’ like a madman after a calf?” asked Jenkins, overtaking Archie, who was recharging his gun at the gallop.
“Who—where?” cried the boy, looking impatiently round.
“Keep cool, lad! Whatever condition you chance to be in, whether of danger or safety, always keep cool. For why?—it makes you comfortable, or more fit for action, as the case may be. See, the fellow over there half-hidden by smoke.”
“Why, that’s Duncan McKay. You might know him by his hat.”
“I ain’t a good judge o’ hats,” remarked the seaman, as he fired at a bull and missed it. “Ha! that comes o’ firin’ at long range,” he said. “It was at least six yards off, an’ I can’t count on the old blunderbuss beyond five. Better luck next time!”
“Hallo! Jenkins, did you hear that?”
“What?”
“That shriek? I’m sure some one has been hurt.”
“Very likely, lad. There’s many a cropper a-goin’ on just now, an’ we can’t all expect to come off scot-free.”