"I don't think I could hit a bird now, Pete, after that upset."
"Oh, yes, you could, sir," he cried. "Let's go on; and I say, if you
see my gentleman again, you pepper him, and he won't come near us any
more."
"I don't know, Pete," I said thoughtfully; "the pain might make it more
vicious. Let's get back to the boat. I feel as if I've done quite
enough for one day."
I finished reloading my gun as I spoke, so as to be ready for
emergencies, and turned to retrace our steps to the rocky descent to the
stream, when Pete touched my arm.
"Coming back here to drink," he whispered.
I forgot all about the shock and nervousness the next moment, as I saw
the flutter of approaching wings, and directly after my gun rang out
with two reports, while as the smoke floated away, Pete triumphantly ran
to where a couple of the orange birds had fallen.
"I say, Master Nat," he said, "you can shoot. Wish I could do that.
You seem just to hold the gun up and it's done. I knew you could. They
are beauties. Something better worth taking back than we had before."
The birds' plumage was carefully smoothed, and without further adventure
we reached the top of the vast rocky wall and descended to the stream,
where we had another refreshing draught close to the mouth of the
natural arch through which the water flowed, and then tramped back to
the boat, reaching it at sundown, where my uncle was, as I had said, in
ecstasies with the beautiful birds we had brought.
I was as pleased, but just then I thought more of the pleasant
roast-bird supper and the coffee that awaited us, and paid more
attention to these than anything else.
Over the supper, though, I related our experience with the pumas, and my
uncle looked serious.
"You got off well, Nat," he said. "They are not dangerous beasts,
though, unless attacked and hurt. I'd give them as wide a berth in
future as I could. I'm thankful that you had such an escape."