Читать книгу Little Rifle; or, The Young Fur Hunters онлайн

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“Then I suppose, Uncle Ruff, that the fellow I started off on a walk won’t be likely to forget me very soon?”

“Not much; and while you’re ’bout it, you might jist as well hold him in remembrance. You see, Little Rifle,” continued Old Ruff, resuming his supper, “I never b’l’eve in murder—not at all; but when you’ve got your gun p’inted at a red-skin, and don’t feel like pulling the trigger, it’s a good idee to shet your eyes, hold your gun steady, and sneeze. When a man has his finger on the trigger, and onexpectedly sneezes, the gun is purty sartin to go off. I found that out when I was a little younker, and had a bow and arrer sighted at my dear old grandmother, wondering how near I could come to the end of her nose without hitting it, and not intendin’ to shoot at all. The old lady jist then had her snuffbox out, and I s’pose some of it got into my norsetrils; fur I fetched a sneeze that like to have blowed my nose off, and when I got over the a’rthquake that had shook me to pieces, I see’d my grandmother picking up the only three teeth that she had left, from the floor. Afore I could ax her pardon, the old man come in. I remember he had been digging in the garden, and carried a spade in his hand. Wal,” added the old joker, with a sigh, “I won’t describe the incidents that follered; suffice it to say that I warn’t able to set down for two weeks, and I don’t s’pose I’ll forgit that little episode as long as I live.”