“Bung! Zee-e-e-e!” goes that scatter-gun ag’in, only this time it’s both barrels. I hears Magpie spit out uh personal cuss word and splash back into th’ crick.
“Heaven is my home,” states uh voice in th’ gloom, which I recognizes as bein’ that of th’ doctor, and I hears him rastlin’ around in th’ brush.
“Where’s that blamed gun, anyway?” he whines. “I never shot two loads to once before, and after this——”
“Cut—cut—cut it out, yuh blamed maverick!” quavers Magpie, and I sees his arms wavin’ over th’ bank of th’ crick in uh signal uh distress.
“Gracious! Did I hit you? Did it go past you?” yells th’ doc.
Magpie raises his string-bean carcass on th’ bank, shakes th’ water out of his hair, and whoops:
“What went past? Yuh blasted, overfed, red-faced porkypine. What do yuh reckon yo’re tryin’ to do?”
“Calm yourself,” advises th’ doc. “If it hadn’t been for me you all might be dead. What do you think of that?”
“Fine,” sez Magpie. “I’m like Patrick Henry thataway. If I can’t have liberty I’ll take uh li’l death. When fellers like you are pesticatin’ around uh feller’s liberty is shore restricted. What was yuh tryin’ to kill, anyway?”
“What made that noise?” hedges th’ doc. “What made it, eh? I heard it, and comes out to investigate. I saw what I took to be two skulking animals, so I gave each one a load of shot. One of them jumped into the creek, but I gave it both barrels as it went out the other side. This gun kicked so hard that it was impossible for me to determine what my execution was. I hope it was deadly.”