164 THE ' OLD MAN'S ' SPLEEN. 



' Your gun ain't dirty, is it ? ' he asked. 



' No, not very/ I replied. 



' Then what are you swabbing her out for ? ' he 

 continued, after a grunt, and a pause. 



' To prevent a miss-fire/ I answered. 



This reply was received with a couple of grunts, 

 and a longer silence. 



' I guess you'll be here when I git back?' he said 

 by way of question. 



'No; for I'm going with you,' emphatically I 

 uttered. 



' No need ; guess I can take care of myself. 

 Calculate I knew how to kill a bear, before ever I 

 seen you,' he continued. 



' Highly possible !' I pronounced, in a nonchalant 

 manner, and the conversation ceased both being 

 as cross with each other as a brace of jealous rivals. 



I knew I had to watch the old man, or to a 

 moral certainty he would slip away from me. At 

 length he got up, stretched himself, gave a grunt, 

 and exclaimed 'I'm off.' Possibly without the 

 stretch, certainly without the grunt, I followed at 

 his heels. 



We traversed some broken land, edged with 

 dead fir-trees, skirting a very spongy piece of morass 

 that shelved off into a diminutive lake ; then turned 

 to the right, up a ravine, down the centre of which 

 rushed a brook. Dwarf birch-trees and hemlocks 

 hung over the water in places, damming back the light, 

 or forming a screen which concealed shaded retreats. 



