"The third day I struck a town o' sand-rats. This niggur's har wur longer then than it ur now. I made snares o' it, an' trapped a lot o' the rats; but they grew shy too, cuss 'em! an' I had to quit that speck'lashun. This wur the third day from the time I'd been set down, an' I wur getting nasty weak on it. I 'gin to think that the time wur come for this child to go under. "'Twur a leetle arter sun-up, an' I wur sittin' on the bank, when I seed somethin' queery floatin' a-down the river. When I kim closer, I seed it wur the karkidge o' a buffler--calf at that--an' a couple o' buzzarts floppin' about on the thing, pickin' its peepers out. 'Twur far out, an' the water deep; but I'd made up my mind to fetch it ashore. I wa'n't long in strippin', I reckin." Here the hunters interrupted Rube's story with a laugh. "I tuk the water, an' swam out. I kud smell the thing afore I wur half-way, an' when I got near it, the birds mizzled. I wur soon clost up, an' seed at a glimp that the calf wur as rotten as punk." "What a pity!" exclaimed one of the hunters. "I wa'n't a-gwine to have my swim for nuthin'; so I tuk the tail in my teeth, an' swam back for the shore. I hadn't made three strokes till the tail pulled out! "I then swum round ahint the karkidge, an' pushed it afore me till I got it landed high an' dry upon a sandbar. 'Twur like to fall to pieces, when I pulled it out o' the water. 'Twa'n't eatable nohow!" Here Rube took a fresh mouthful of the wolf-mutton, and remained silent until he had masticated it. The men had become interested in the story, and waited with impatience. At length he proceeded-- "I seed the buzzarts still flyin' about, an' fresh ones a-comin'. I tuk a idee that I mout git my claws upon some o' 'em. So I lay down clost up agin the calf, an' played 'possum. "I wa'n't long that a way when the birds begun to light on the sandbar, an' a big cock kim floppin' up to the karkidge. Afore he kud flop up agin, I grupped him by the legs." "Hooraw! well done, by gollies!" "The cussed thing wur nearly as stinkin' as t'other, but it wur die dog--buzzart or calf--so I skinned the buzzart." "And ate it?" inquired an impatient listener. "No-o," slowly drawled Rube, apparently "miffed" at being thus interrupted. "It ate me." The laugh that followed this retort restored the old trapper to good humour again. "Did you go it raw, Rube?" asked one of the hunters. "How could he do otherwise? He hadn't a spark o' fire, an' nothing to make one out of." "Yur'n etarnal fool!" exclaimed Rube, turning savagely on the last speaker. "I kud make a fire if thur wa'n't a spark anywhar!" A yell of laughter followed this speech, and it was some minutes before the trapper recovered his temper sufficiently to resume his narration.