“Is it?” replied the hunter with a “humph!”
“If ye try to lift yer head, I guess you’ll change yer opinion.”
Marston did try to raise his head, and did change his opinion. His neck felt as if it were a complication of iron hinges, which had become exceedingly rusty, and stood much in need of oil.
“Oh dear!” groaned Marston, letting his head fall back on the saddle from which he had raised it.
“Ah, I thought so!” remarked Bounce.
“And is that all the sympathy you have got to give me, you old savage?” said the youth testily.
“By no means,” replied the other, patting his head; “here’s a drop o’ water as’ll do ye good, lad, and after you’ve drunk it, I’ll rub ye down.”
“Thank’ee for the water,” said Marston with a deep sigh, as he lay back, after drinking with difficulty; “as to the rubbin’ down, I’ll ask for that when I want it. But tell me, Bounce, what has happened to me?—oh! I remember now—the buffalo cow and that famous gallop. Ha! ha! ha!—ho—o!”
Marston’s laugh terminated in an abrupt groan as the rusty hinges again clamoured for oil.
“You’ll have to keep quiet, boy, for a few hours, and take a sleep if you can. I’ll roast a bit o’ meat and rub ye down with fat after you’ve eat as much of it as ye can. There’s nothing like beef for a sick man’s inside, an’ fat for his outside—that’s the feelosophy o’ the whole matter. You’ve a’most bin bu’sted wi’ that there fall; but you’ll be alright to-morrow. An’ you’ve killed yer buffalo, lad, so yer mother ’ll get the hump after all. Only keep yer mind easy, an’ I guess human nature ’ll do the rest.”