"But, what would you have said had you killed that big black robber or winged me?" I asked. "We were all in a higgledy-piggledy mix-up when you fired."
She smiled.
"I can generally hit what I aim at."
I nodded my head. "Ay! And I think you can hit sometimes even when you don't aim."
"George!" she admonished, "we were referring simply to shooting with a gun,—not with a bow and arrows."
CHAPTER XXII
Jake Stops the Drink for Good
By the time I got back to Jake, he had his bed hammered up into position again.
He insisted that I, as his guest, should occupy it, while he would enjoy nothing so well as being allowed to curl himself up in a blanket on the floor, in the company of the convalescing Mike.