Volume I Part 4 (2/2)
”Good heavens, don't do that!” I cried, shoving the muzzle aside.
”What--what--” he cried, whirling round like a teetotum--”what have I done?”
”Nothing as yet; but I hate to have the muzzle of a gun turned towards me since the day I saw poor cousin Jack's brains blown out.”
”What am I to do?” exclaimed Simpson. ”I'll do anything.”
”It's all right,” I replied; ”you won't mind my old-world stupidity.”
My guest's gun was a central-fire breech-loader of Rigby's newest type, which he commenced to prepare for action in what seemed to me to be a very bungling sort of way. He dropped it twice, and in releasing the barrels, brought them into very violent collision with his head, which caused the waters of anguish to roll silently down his cheeks and on to his pointed moustache. If I had not been aware of his manifold experiences in the shooting line, I could have set him down as a man who had never handled a gun in his life; but knowing his powers and prowess, I ascribed his awkwardness to simple carelessness, a carelessness in all probability due to the smallness of the game of which he was now in pursuit. I therefore refrained from taking any notice, and from making any observation until he deliberately proceeded to thrust a patent cartridge into the _muzzle_ of the barrel of his central-fire.
”Hold hard, Mr Simpson; you are surely only jesting.”
”Jesting! How do you mean?”
”Why, using that cartridge in the way you are doing.”
”What other way should I use it?”
”May I again remind you that I am utterly averse to facetiousness where firearms are concerned, and----”
”My dear Smithe, I meant nothing, I a.s.sure you. I pledge you my word of honour. Here, load it yourself;” and he handed me the gun.
”There'll be a job for the coroner afore sunset,” growled Billy.
”What do you mean, sir?” exclaimed Simpson, rather savagely.
”Mane! There's widdys and lone orphans enough in the counthry, sir--that's what I mane,” and Billy started in advance with the air of a man who had to do or die.
Mr Simpson was silent for some time, during which he found himself perpetually involved in his gun, which appeared to give him the uttermost uneasiness. First, he held it at arm's length as if it was a bow; then he placed it under his arm, and held on to it with the tenacity of an octopus; after a little he s.h.i.+fted it again, sloping it on his shoulder, ever and anon glancing towards the barrels to ascertain their exact position. He would pause, place the b.u.t.t against the ground, and survey the surrounding prospect with the scrutinising gaze of a cavalry patrol.
”Hus.h.!.+” he suddenly exclaimed. ”We lost something that time; I heard a bird.”
”Nothin', barrin' a crow,” observed Billy.
”A plover, sir; it was the cry of a plover,” evasively retorted the other.
”Holy Vargin! do ye hear this? A pluvver! Divvle resave the pluvver ever was seen in the barony!”
”Silence, Doyle!” I shouted, finding that my retainer's observations were becoming personal and unpleasant.
”Troth, we'll all be silent enough by-an'-by.”
We had been walking for about half an hour, when Mr Simpson suggested that it might be advisable to separate, he taking one direction, I taking the other, but both moving in parallel lines. Having joyfully a.s.sented to this proposition, as the careless manner in which he handled his gun was fraught with the direst consequences, I moved into an adjacent bog, leaving my guest to blaze away at what I considered a safe distance. I took Billy with me, both for company and for counsel, as my guest's a.s.sumed ignorance of the fundamental principles of shooting had somewhat puzzled me.
”It's a quare bisniss intirely, Masther Jim. He knows no more how to howld a gun nor you do to howld a baby, more betoken ye've two av the finest childre--G.o.d be good to them!--in Europe. I don't like for to say he's coddin' us, wud his tigers an' elephants an' combusticles, but, be me song, it luks very like it. I'd like for to see him shootin', that wud putt an ind to the question.”
At this moment, bang! bang! went the two barrels of my guest's gun.
<script>