"My dear Peterkin, then you're not killed after all."
"Not quite, but pretty near. If it had not been for that friendly bush
I should have fared worse. It broke my fall completely, and I really
believe that my worst hurts are a few scratches. But how are _you_,
Ralph? Yours was a much more severe case than mine. You should hold
your gun tighter, man, when you fire without putting it to your
shoulder."
"How? why? what do you mean?"
"Simply this, that in consequence of your reckless manner of holding
your rifle, it came back with such a slap on your chest that it floored
you."
"This, then, accounts for the pain I feel in it. But come," said I,
rising and shaking my limbs to make sure that no bones were broken; "we
have reason to be very thankful we have escaped so easily. I made sure
that you were killed when I saw you flying through the air."
"I always had a species of cat-luck about me," replied Peterkin, with a
smile. "But now let us cut off a bit o' this fellow to take back with
us for Jack's supper."
With some difficulty we succeeded in cutting out the buffalo's tongue by
the root, and carried it back to the village, where, after displaying it
as an evidence of our prowess, we had it cooked for supper.
The slight hurts that we had received at the time of this adventure were
speedily cured, and about two weeks after that we were all well enough
to resume our journey.