ter
excipt for a whisky-barrel, och hone!"

"Little sick--soon be well--then shoot."

"I wonder now whether I could howld me gun straight enough to drop a
buffler at ten paces. There sits a bird in that tree that is grinning
at me. I'll t'ach him bitter manners."

The gun was discharged, the bullet passing within a few inches of the
head of the Indian, who sprung back with a grunt.

"A purty good shot," laughed Teddy; "but it _would_ be rayther
tiresome killing game, being I could only hit them as run behind me,
and being I can't saa in that direction, I'll give over the idaa; and
turn me undivided attention to fishing. Ah, divil a bit of difference
is it to the fish, whin a worm is on the right ind, whether a drunken
man or a gintleman is at the other."

The Indian manifested a readiness to assist every project of the
Irishman, and he now advised him to fish by all means, urging that
they should proceed to the river at once. But Teddy insisted upon
going to a small creek near at hand. The savage strongly demurred, but
finally yielded, and the two set out, making their way somewhat after
the fashion of a yoke of oxen.

Upon reaching the stream, Teddy, instead of pausing upon the bank,
continued walking on until he was splashing up to his waist in water.
Had it not been for the prompt assistance of the Indian, the poor
fellow most probably would have had his earthly career terminated.
This incident partially sobered Teddy, and made him ashamed of his
condition. He saw the savage was by no means so far gone as himself,
and he bewailed his foolishness in unmeasured terms.

"Who knows but Master Harvey has gone to the village, and Miss Cora
stands in the door this minute, 'xpacting this owld spalpaan?"

"No go till arternoon," said the savage.

"What time might it be jist now?"

"'Tain't noon yit--soon be--bimeby."

"It's all the same; I shan't be fit to go home afore night, whin I
might bist stay away altogether. And you, Mr. Copperskin, was the
maans of gittin' me in this trouble."

"_Me_ make you drink him?" asked the savage. "You not ax for jug, eh?
You not want him?"

"Yes, begorrah, it was me own fault. Whisky is me waikness. Its
illigant perfume always sits me wild fur it. Mister Harvey was
belaving, whin he brought me here, that I wouldn't be drinking any of
the vile stuff, for the good rais'n that I couldn't git none; but,
what'll he say now? Niver was I drunker at Donnybrook, and only once,
an' t