"I hope, gentlemen, no man here will presume to think I'm exaggerating?"
"Oh, certainly not! Go on, Mr. ----," we all chimed in.
"Well, the ground under my feet was soft, and, being relieved of my
heavy boots, I put off with double-quick time, and, seeing the creek
about half a mile off, I ventured to look over my shoulder to see what
kind of chance there was to hold up and load. The red-skin was coming
jogging along, pretty well blowed out, about five hundred yards in the
rear. Thinks I, 'Here goes to load, anyhow.' So at it I went: in went
the powder, and, putting on my patch, down went the ball about half-way,
and off snapped my ramrod!"
"Thunder and lightning!" shouted the old woodsman, who was worked up to
the top-notch in the "member's" story.
"Good gracious! wasn't I in a pickle! There was the red whelp within two
hundred yards of me, pacing along and _loading up his rifle as he came_!
I jerked out the broken ramrod, dashed it away, and started on, priming
up as I cantered off, determined to turn and give the red-skin a blast,
anyhow, as soon as I reached the creek.
"I was now within a hundred yards of the creek, could see the smoke from
the settlement chimneys. A few more jumps, and I was by the creek. The
Indian was close upon me: he gave a whoop, and I raised my rifle: on he
came, knowing that I had broken my ramrod and my load not down: another
whoop! whoop! and he was within fifty yards of me. I pulled trigger,
and--"
"And killed _him_?" chuckled Riley.
"No, _sir_! I missed fire!"
"And the red-skin--" shouted the old woodsman, in a frenzy of
excitement.
"_Fired and killed me!_"
The screams and shouts that followed this finale brought landlord Noble,
servants and hostlers running up stairs to see if the house was on
fire!
"AS GOOD AS A PLAY"