"Fact," said Jim; "so you did. Come here, Nap. Poor fellow! How's your old tail now?"
Charley was back in a twinkling with his own rabbit and the one Jim had killed, but there was a wide difference between them. There was shot enough in the latter to have killed half a dozen, while all the mark they could find on Charley's game was one little spot at the roots of his ears.
"So much for making the shot scatter. If I hadn't put in a double load of shot, you'd have lost 'em both."
"There wasn't but one," said Charley.
"I mean that rabbit and old Napoleon Bonaparte. Come on now. Your gun's all right. Let's try the other side of the swamp."
He pointed out a rabbit, sitting among some bushes, on the way, and Charley's gun went off finely, now that the powder had been put in first.
"Don't you ever shoot them when they're sitting still, Jim?"
"No; and you won't when you're used to it. There's one coming for me. I'll take him as he goes by."
Nap was entirely safe this time. Indeed, he seemed inclined all the rest of that morning to do his rabbit-hunting at a somewhat unsociable distance from his friends.
There were plenty of rabbits in the swamp, and the boys were more than a little proud of their success, especially Charley; but when the time came for going home, it was curious how ready they both were to go. So was Napoleon Bonaparte. Truth to tell, it had been hard work, and the boys declared the rabbit a remarkably heavy beast, for his size, by the time they reached home with their game.