"Wery clever leetle gone, for sartain, massa; but all de caps dem spoil, sir. See de powder--percossion dem call--quite moist, and useless." By this time he had fitted on one of the copper caps, and snapped the piece, but it was dumb. "I am going to fill de caps wid fresh powder, massa; but really dis percossion powder too lively, massa--only see"--and he gave a few grains of it a small tip with the shank of the bullet mould, when it instantly flashed up. "Master Quacco," said I, "mind your hand; that is dangerous stuff. Tell Mr Flamingo to be wary also, or he will be shooting people, for it is wrong mixed, I am certain." "Wery trang, wery trang for sartain, massa--but no fear in my hand--for I is armourer, as well as waiting gentleman--oh, ebery ting is I Quacco." "Confound your self-conceit." Here Flamingo and Twig came in. "Good morning, Mr Brail." "Good morning." "All ready for the start, I see," said Twig. "Why, Felix, what is Mr Brail's man doing with your gun?" "Cleaning it, and filling these caps anew with fresh percussion powder: the old has mildewed, or got damp, he tells me. Indeed, the last time I shot, it was not one in three that exploded." "Mind how you play with those caps," said I; but before I could proceed---- "Sally, make haste and get breakfast," bawled Twig. "_Do you hear?_" "Yes, massa," squeaked Sal from the profundities of the back premises. "Why, Felix," continued our friend, "there has been another burglary last night: My _spleuchan_, as Rory Macgregor calls it, has been ravished of its treasures." "How poetical you are this morning!--mounted on your Pegasus, I see," rejoined Felix. "Better that than the horned animal that led me such a dance yesterday," quoth his friend, laughing. "But, joking apart, your man Twister must have mistaken my tobacco for his own: He has emptied my tobacco-pouch, as sure as fate, for none of my own people _eat_ it; and the fellow has always that capacious hole in his ugly phiz filled with it--with my prime patent chewing tobacco, as I am a gentleman." "Really," said Felix, who detested tobacco in all shapes, as I learned afterwards, with an accent conveying as clearly as if he had said it--"I am deuced glad to hear it." Then, "Confound it, are we never to get breakfast? But when did you miss it, Jacob?" "Why, when we got out to ride over Mount Diablo, at the time the boys were leading the gig-horses;--don't you recollect that I had to borrow Twister's spurs, as Dare-devil always requires a persuader when a donkey is in the path, and there were half-a-dozen, you know? So, stooping to adjust them, out tumbled my spleuchan, it appears. I did not know it at the time, indeed not until we were getting into the gig again, when Twister handed the pouch, that was so well filled when it dropped, as lank and empty as your own carcass, Flam." "Poo, poo! what does it signify?" said his ally. "A fair exchange, Twig--tobacco for spurs, you know--a simple _quid pro quo_."