"He did, gentlemen, and I felt the ball strike me under the shoulder; but that didn't seem to put any embargo upon my locomotion, for as soon as I got up I took off again, quite freshened by my fall! I heard the red-skin close behind me coming booming on, and every minute I expected to have his tomahawk dashed into my head or shoulders.
"Something kind of cool began to trickle down my legs into my boots—"
"Blood, eh? for the shot the varmint gin you," said the old woodsman, in a great state of excitement.
"I thought so," said the Senator; "but what do you think it was?"
Not being blood, we were all puzzled to know what the blazes it could be; when Riley observed,—
"I suppose you had—"
"Melted the deer-fat which I had stuck in the breast of my hunting-shirt, and the grease was running down my leg until my feet got so greasy that my heavy boots flew off, and one, hitting the dog, nearly knocked his brains out."
We all grinned, which the "member" noticing, observed,—
"I hope, gentlemen, no man here will presume to think I'm exaggerating?"
"Oh, certainly not! Go on, Mr. ——," we all chimed in.